Down But Not Out
by Cheryl W
Summary: When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin"  No slash.
1. Chapter 1: On Call

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

Author's Note: I ssssooooo shouldn't be posting this story. Not when I'm supposed to be frantically updated my other story. But this tale has been around for months, scribbled on slips of paper and multiple note pads and receipts and I just wanted to put some of it out here, needed to know if it was worth continuing. So my apologies to anyone thinking that this was an update to my DA crossover, be reassured that will be coming. But in the meantime, I hope somebody enjoys this story and maybe wants more of it.

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"Go already. I'll man Bobby's phones while you two are taking care of Casper," Dean assured his brother, who stood at the bottom of the stairs, indecision warring on his features.

"Stay off my phones," Bobby yelled from the interior of the Impala, though he didn't even think his two cents mattered in the confrontation he was witnessing. '_Like the kid ever listens to a word I say.'_

"Seriously, you're going to rest, right? I mean, that's why we came to Bobby's, so you could heal up," Sam put on his soft, reasonable tone. He hoped his brother realized that he wasn't going anywhere, not until he heard Dean promise to not overexert himself, to not open up the twenty stitches in his side.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's mothering. "Yes, Sam."

"No working on cars or hitting the local bars or …"

"Having any fun," Dean cut in, giving Sam his most insincere smile.

"Dean," Sam drawled, a plea in the very way he said his brother's name.

"Chill, Dude. I'm not going to bleed out all over Bobby's kitchen while you're off ganking a ghost."

Sam nearly winced at Dean's words. Words that caused just that type of worry to spring to his fertile mind. "Great, thanks for that mental picture."

Admitting to himself that he was being a jerk, was busting Sam's chops for _caring_ about him, Dean dropped his attitude instantly. "Sam, I'm just going to kick back here, watch some tv, liberate Bobby of some of his booze. Might even turn on a soap, learn who's sleeping with who this week." That got the desired effect, Sam smiling and shaking his head. "So get going before your hunting partner there gets all stiff and crotchety."

"I'll show you crotchety," Bobby's threat drifted over to Dean.

Dean winked at Sam. "See I got him in a good mood for you."

Sam laughed sarcastically, "Yeah, thanks for that." But with most of his worry abated by his brother's vow, he turned around, headed for the Impala.

As the Impala rumbled to life and began to make her way out of the salvage yard, Dean caught Sam's eyes seeking him out in the rearview and he gave a wave. He stood there a moment, watched the car make the turn and disappear out of sight.

Finally able to let his pain show, he dropped his arm with a wince and pressed his hand on his wound. The truth was, just breathing hurt, irritated the deep slashes and bruised ribs on his left side. Course he hadn't told Sam that. He had his pride after all. Not to mention Sam would have never left him if he knew.

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Dean jumped when the phone rang the first time, harshly erupting the deathly quiet that had stolen over the house with Sam and Bobby's absence. It took him some time to lever himself off the couch and cross to the kitchen, took him another few seconds to answer the right dang phone from the five lined up on Bobby's wall. "Agent Ronks," he answered the FBI line.

And that was the start of it. No sooner had he hung up verifying one hunter's story then another phone would ring, would be someone wanting advice on a hunt, for him to scour through Bobby's massive library for some long forgotten lore.

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Across the Impala's benchseat, Bobby watched Sam, could detect the kid's edginess a mile away. "If you're gonna be all twitchy nervous like a new mother separated from her baby, turn around now. I'll do the hunt on my own."

Choosing not to rise to Bobby's taunt, Sam kept his eyes on the road ahead. "It's a two man hunt and you know it."

Recognizing that Sam didn't deny his insinuations about his uneasiness, Bobby sighed, knew it wasn't the time to be hard on the kid. Whatever friction used to live between the brothers, it didn't now. And, for good or for bad, that sometimes made the two men awfully reluctant to let the other out of his sight. After all they had been through, the times they had lost each other, almost forever, he sure wasn't going to judge them for that. Considering he felt sick himself every time they walked out his door, he would be a big ole hypocrite if he did.

"I can call some other hunters to take care of this," he offered, though he would bet his salvage yard the answer he would get. '_Stubborn Winchesters_.' But the look Sam shot him, it hovered on indecisive and he wondered when he would ever figure out the two men he considered sons.

Giving a gentle smile of gratitude for Bobby's offer, Sam ruefully admitted, "Dean threatened to shoot me if I didn't stop playing Nurse Jackie. He needs…some space," he forced out, knew that he shouldn't be taking that personally.

"Ok." But Bobby heard loud and clear what Sam wasn't saying.

The very last thing Sam wanted was to be somewhere his brother was not.

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Dean was hunched over a dusty tome on Bobby's desk when the phone rang again. Using his hands to help push himself to his feet, he clamored across the room, picked up every phone on the wall only for the ringing to keep on going.

"Crap," he grumbled as he realized the phone that was ringing was Bobby's regular phone, the one he had on the steps. Trying to hustle over to the phone before it clicked over to voice mail, he was breathless as he answered, "Yeah."

"Dean, are you alright? You sound out of breath."

Of course it had to be Sam, unleashing his worried little brother voice. "Just had to dash across the room to make sure I didn't miss your call, Sammy" Dean drawled out with sickening sweetness, hoping to dissuade his brother's tendency to overreact.

"Sorry," came Sam's remorseful reply. "I didn't mean to make you run for the phone."

"No problem. So how's the ghost wrangling going?"

"Haven't seen it yet but we're set to do an all-nighter."

"An all-nighter? With Bobby? Wow, I wish I could be there."

"Sure you do," Sam chuckled even as he knew Dean did wish he was there, that his brother was never one to enjoy being sidelined, no matter how bad the survival odds were. That thought conjuring up more than one do-or-die situation they had encountered, he couldn't fight the urge to ask, "You doing OK?"

"Just fantastic," Dean delivered bitterly.

Reading the restlessness and frustration in his brother's tone, Sam sighed, sympathetically agreed, "Yeah, I know. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

"'Kay. Remember to call me before I get on the school bus, _Mom_," Dean taunted, but slipped in "Be careful" before he disconnected the call.

Smirking at his brother's sarcasm and heartened by Dean's order to be careful, Sam slid his phone in his pocket. '_Yeah, Dean, __**I'm**__ the nurturing one'_ he thought with an internal snort.

The phone still in his hand, Dean stood there a moment, alone, the house as quiet as a grave. And God help him, he knew, first hand, how quiet that was. Suddenly, the satisfaction he had gleamed from manning Bobby's phones all day vaporized. He felt lost, useless and he knew why. He wasn't where he should be.

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He was dozing on the couch when the phone rang again, Bobby's phone that he had kept by him ever since Sam's call hours ago. Only in case Sam needed his expertise on the hunt, of course.

With his brain still muddled with sleep and his tongue out of practice of speech, his "yeah'" came out slurred.

"Singer?" a familiar voice questioned, uncertainty carrying in the gruff tone.

Sitting up, giving a rough rub to his eyes, Dean mentally processed the voice he heard. "Rufus?"

"Put Bobby on," Rufus bad-temperedly ordered.

"He's not here."

The line fell silent. Then a curse drifted into Dean's ear. But it was the hint of unease in the seasoned hunter's voice that caused tension to wipe away the last of Dean's sleep. "What do you need?"

His offer was met with bitter laughter and disdain. "Like you can do anything about it."

More than a little put off by Rufus' doubt in his abilities, Dean shot back, "Hey, you don't want my help….."

Without preamble an unfamiliar voice piped up from Rufus' side of the connection. "One more minute, buddy."

Instantly Dean put two and two together, got four, and knew exactly where the older hunter was. With a fair showing of smugness, he finished the sentence he had began, "…that's fine but you only get one phone call from the Big House."

Accepting that the gig was up, Rufus sighed. "Yeah, yeah. They're charging me with carrying an unregistered weapon."

"Where?"

"Philipsburg, North Dakota."

"What's your alias?"

"Norman Frankfort."

Before Dean could slam Rufus for his uninspired alias, the unwelcome voice once more spoke up, growled, "Time's up."

Next thing Dean knew, he was listening to dial tone.

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Rufus wasn't sleeping, not with the company he had in his cell.

He wasn't expecting to hear a familiar voice.

In the game long enough to know not to show his poker hand, ever, he forced himself to play it cool. Keeping his eyes trained on the cell door, he didn't twitch a muscle, didn't blink an eye as Dean Winchester, wearing a suit and tie, strolled into the holding area, the sheriff at his side. The two "lawmen" spent some minutes joking about having better things to do than hauling prisoners around as if they were their personal travel agents.

It took less than half an hour later before Dean and Rufus walked out the front door of the jail.

Cupping his hand around the back of his ear, Dean leaned toward Rufus, "I'm sorry I didn't hear you."

"I didn't say anything," Rufus grumbled, stalking down the sidewalk, anxious to get out of sight before the real FBI decided to put in an appearance.

"I just saved your butt," Dean gloated, was still pretty proud of his awesome 'I'm here to collect my prisoner' shtick considering he felt like crap.

Eyes scanning his surroundings but never landing on the man at his side, Rufus demanded, "Where'd you park that rust bucket of yours?"

That broke Dean out of his warm and fuzzies. He pointed a threatening finger at the older hunter. "Dude, you slam the Impala again and I'll call 5-0 on you myself."

"So where is it?" Rufus deadpanned.

"Nebraska."

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Sam was ready to get out of the Impala and scout a stakeout location in the warehouse when Bobby grabbed his arm. Startled, Sam stopped mid-motion, looked expectantly to Singer.

"Go ahead and call him," Bobby said not unkindly, his eyes meeting Sam's.

Sam tilted his head as if he didn't understand what Bobby was talking about.

"You won't be any good to me if you don't," Bobby managed to say without a sigh of frustration at the kid's belief that he was actually hiding anything from him.

Dropping his pretense, Sam rubbed a fingernail over the steering wheel. "I said I would call him tomorrow," a touch of sulkiness in his tone.

"So?" Bobby challenged, would push the kid if it got the job done.

Sam didn't answer him, chose instead to look out the windshield. But he also didn't make a move to reach for his phone or the door handle.

Bobby didn't fight his sigh this time. He knew this was coming, had been coming for quite some time. "Alright, out with it."

"Out with what?" True confusion sparkled in Sam's eyes as they dared to meet Bobby's.

"Whatever question you've been choking on ever since we put one hundred miles between us and Dean."

Chagrined, Sam deflected, "It's…nothing."

But Bobby knew Sam, knew what was haunting his waking hours more than he would ever admit. "You want to know something about your lost year."

Sam changed up his focus to the side window.

At Sam's prolonged silence, Bobby grumbled, "I'm not a mind reader. You want to know something, you gotta ask, Sam."

Without facing Bobby, Sam achingly confessed, "I don't have the guts to ask the hard questions. Too terrified of the answers."

It cut Bobby to the quick, Sam's pain, his guilt. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he realized why he hadn't pressed Sam to talk about any of this before. As much as Sam didn't want to hear the answers, Bobby didn't want to give them. But if Sam was asking, if there was a slim chance he could lighten the boy's load, he'ld do it. After all, he had faced Hell itself for these boys, certainly some soul searching couldn't be too much to ask. "As much as he wasn't you, part of him was, Sam."

Sam convulsively swallowed, wondered how Bobby could stand to even be in the car with him, how Dean could ever _look_ at him. "And you can't forgive me," he concluded, nodded his head in acceptance, didn't blame Bobby, not when it was all on him, soul deprived or not.

Bobby's face scrunched up in a scowl and his tone was a frustrated reprimand, "No, you idgit! Now let me get where I'm going." Pausing a second, he exhaled and then plunged headlong into it. "Some of your good was there, in him."

Turning earnest eyes onto Bobby, Sam bitterly challenged, "Ok, then tell me what "good" part of me could stand there and let Dean get turned into a vampire!"

"The part that didn't lop off Dean's head," Bobby bluntly shot back. "Instead he called Samuel and his magic cure to the rescue. The part that put him smack dab outside Lisa's place the second he was sprung from hell, the part that nearly exsanguinated himself to save Dean from being a ghoul snack. The part that, even when Dean was more likely to kill him than look at him, wouldn't leave Dean, told Dean that he was stuck with the soulless guy and he'ld have to get over it."

A slow smile stole over Sam's features, "Sounds like he had my stubbornness."

"In spades," Bobby agreed, holding Sam's gaze steadily, hoping the young man knew whatever guilt he was carrying over what went down with them, it had met its statue of limitation. "You got five minutes," he announced, gave Sam's shoulder a pat and then he got out of the Impala, left Sam alone to call Dean.

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"So what were you hunting?" Dean casually asked, shooting Rufus a look across the interior of the car he liberated from Bobby's salvage yard.

Rufus turned to lean his back against the passenger door and eyed up his companion.

Dividing his attention between the road and his passenger, Dean noted the measuring look Rufus was eyeballing him with, wondered if the man could tell he was off his game, way off. Thought maybe Rufus knew he wasn't sweating because the air-conditioner in the car wasn't working.

"Let's get something straight. I don't need your help," Rufus insisted as if Dean had challenged his skills. But his next words were in direct contrast to that. "But if you insist on tagging along, it's my hunt and that means you do only what I tell you to do."

Startled that, instead of calling him on his bluff, Turner was ungraciously inviting him along on his hunt, Dean slowly smiled. '_Goodbye boredom_.'

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TBC?

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So any takers for more? I don't want anyone disappointed so I will say I'm planning on this being a drama/harm/comfort/overprotective little brother & surrogate father tale …not an action one.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2: What You Aren't Saying

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews and for people putting this story on their alerts and even their favorites! With such encouragement, I just had to continue it! Personally I'm so happy that people enjoy Rufus. He's a great character, Steven Williams plays him awesomely and he's fun to throw into the mix of the boys and Bobby.

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Chapter 2: What You Aren't Saying

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When Bobby rapped his knuckles across the Impala's driver side window, Sam clicked off the phone, climbed out of the car and slammed the door, with force.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to read the signs. "He not answering?"

"No. Not your phone or his cell," Sam shortly replied, his hand tightening around the cell, willing it to just ring.

Reading the worry in Sam's eyes and the tension in his stance, Bobby placated roughly, "Don't go having a panic attack. He must be showering, outside or ..ignoring you."

Sam glared at Bobby's attempt at humor.

"Now how about concentrating on having my back," he goaded, pointing to the warehouse that was haunted.

Sam gave a numb nod of his head as he trudged to the Impala's trunk, began picking out the weapons he liked best.

Leaning against the side of the vehicle, Bobby didn't scope out the warehouse windows for signs of haunting, instead he watched Sam rummage through the trunk. Kid looked down in the mouth and that wasn't sitting well with him. And maybe if he were a real dad instead of just some half crazed hunter who knew a heck of a lot about loving someone but not a lick about nurturing and raising them, he would know what to say to cheer the kid up. What he came up with was a groused, "I _know_ you two Siamese twins split up to research and do legwork on hunts. You survive that with a lot of pouting, and hand holding?"

"No," Sam coldly supplied, slamming the trunk and heading for the warehouse. But as he passed Bobby he admitted, almost sheepishly, "But a great cell network helps."

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The shotgun felt heavy in Dean's hands as he trailed behind Rufus, stumbling a little to keep up with the older man's killer pace.

"You coming or do you need me to hold your hand so you don't get scared?" Rufus taunted, throwing a look over his shoulder at his "hunting partner".

Dean gave a big fake, 'up yours' smile to Rufus. He grumbled under his breath when the hunter looked away. "It's like hunting with Dad all over again."

"You say something," Rufus challenged, without turning around.

"Nope."

"So why didn't you do the ghost hunt in Nebraska?"

Surprised that Rufus asked, Dean deflected, "You should just be glad I didn't," conceit dripping in his tone.

"I'm not saying it so stop fishing for it," Rufus shot back.

Dean smiled. Truth was, he didn't really need the thanks. But that didn't stop him from enjoying himself by prodding Rufus for it.

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With a worried scowl, Rufus looked down at the younger hunter. "How bad did it get you?"

Wiping his cheek, smearing the blood pooling there, Dean answered with a smirk, "Love tap."

But Rufus caught sight of blood somewhere other than on Dean's face. "More than one," he countered as he crouched by Dean, reached for the wound on the kid's side. But his hand stopped before it made contact. There were no tears in the bloody shirt. Gently lifting the shirt up, he saw a bandage on Dean's torso. A blood soaked one.

"You mighta mentioned you were hurt," Rufus lethally growled, eyes searing into Dean's with angry concern.

"I didn't know I needed to pass a physical exam to hunt with you," Dean shot back defensively, pushing the older hunter's hands away from him and trying to sit up.

"What I shoulda made you take was an IQ test," Rufus acidly shot back even as he latched onto Dean's elbow with one hand, slid his other arm behind Dean's back and helped the kid sit up.

Dean's next words were a little breathless as he struggled to his feet, leaned on Rufus more than he wanted to, "If I hadn't been here, you would still be playing the mating game with this fugly."

Alarmed when Dean swayed on his feet, Rufus tightened his grip on the kid's waist and started to lead the injured young man to the car.

Planting his feet, Dean stopped their progress. "Thing needs toasted."

"I'll come back and do it."

Starting to push Rufus away, Dean nodded to the carcass at his feet. "Now's as good a time as any."

Reluctantly, Rufus stepped back from Dean but his hands were at the ready to catch the wounded hunter if he faltered. Standing there a moment, he waited until he was certain Dean could stand on his own before he turned his attention to the carcass, completed the job he had started and Dean had helped him finish.

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Sam had the phone in his hand. Again. But Bobby was done chastising Sam for his worry, mostly because the same emotion had him by the throat.

"I shouldn't have left him alone! I knew…" Sam shook his head, paced beside the Impala a few moments in silence before he manages to say the rest. "I knew he wasn't as OK as he was pretending. Maybe he has internal bleeding or …" he squeezed his eyes shut but all he kept seeing was Dean lying on the floor, calling for him. Dying. '_And I'm. Not. There_.'

Roughly grabbing Sam, Bobby shook the tall young man, "Ok, breathe, son. Breathe."

Breath jarred back into his lungs, Sam bent out, drew in gasps of painful air. After all he had been through, it was pathetic that he was having a friggin' panic attack over unanswered phones call. '_If Dean were here, he would never let me live this down_.' But Dean wasn't there and that was the whole problem. Looking up to the person that was, he choked out, "Something is wrong, Bobby."

"I know," Bobby admitted, couldn't ignore his own gut churning fear any longer.

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Even as the fire burned its hottest, Rufus headed back to Dean, ready to manhandle the moron back to the car. But he ended up making one pit stop along the way. Slapping the cell phone he retrieved from the ground against Dean's chest, he gruffly guessed, "Fifteen messages. Bet they all originated from Nebraska."

It was slow going back to the car, mostly because Dean was practically out on his feet. And although Rufus was angry, he didn't lay into Dean, couldn't. Not when the kid looked like he was going to pass out and not when the person Rufus was most angry with was himself. Sure, the kid hadn't been upfront with him, hadn't told him he was hurt, but he should have put the pieces together, should have questioned why Dean was alone, should have pushed to know why the kid wasn't with Singer and his brother on their ghost hunt.

Bitterly, Rufus wondered if he could run far enough away to escape Bobby Singer's wrath. Because when his old friend found out that he had had a part in the kid getting himself hurt further, there would be a hefty price to pay.

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Rufus had to give it to Dean, the kid was tough.

"I got it," Dean growled. Breaking away from Rufus' hold as they entered Rufus' motel room, he aimed himself toward the bathroom.

"Yeah, sure you do," Rufus sarcastically bit out, roughly snagging Dean's arm and redirecting the kid to the bed. He shoved the young man, none too gently, down onto the thin mattress. Tossing the duffle bag of first aid supplies on the nightstand, he turned to his patient, ripped Dean's shirt to get a look at what he was dealing with. "You skipped the ghost hunt to work on the car, yeah right. Singer _benched_ you." Without preamble he ripped the soaked bandage clear of the kid's side. Dean didn't even flinch.

"You don't waste your star players on a weak opponent," Dean casually supplied even as he relished the feel of a bed under him. It left him wanting to close his eyes and take a nap right then. Only he knew, even though Rufus wasn't much on manners, the older hunter wouldn't appreciate it if he dozed off while he was reaming him out.

"You keep telling yourself that," Rufus shot back, grimacing at the bleeding wound he had uncovered. Rooting through the duffle bag on the nightstand, he began pulling out the supplies he would need. "I'm guessing by the messages stacked up on your phone that they don't know where you are."

When his caustic statement was met with silence, Rufus quickly looked to Dean, worried that the kid had passed out on him. But Winchester was very much awake and busy avoiding making eye contact with him. "Oh, that's just great," he grumbled gloomily. "I was smart enough to never get tangled between you and your old man and now I've stepped right into it with Singer and your brother."

Rolling his head to face Rufus, Dean reassured, "If they don't know where I am, then they don't know who I'm with."

"Yet. Now I'll give you a local to …" but Rufus never got to finish his statement.

"No, I'm good," Dean stated, tightening his grip around Rufus' wrist, ensuring that the man didn't have a chance to use the needle he held.

Rufus read the determination in Dean's eyes, knew that, though Winchester might be a kid in his eyes, Dean was a man accustomed to pain. Lots of it by the stories Bobby told and by the scars on Dean's body. But part of him didn't _want_ to add another volume to the younger man's memories of agony. "No one's after us. We can hole up here awhile. I'll keep watch," he offered almost gently, wanted Dean to know he would watch his back, that he could let down his guard, could do things the easy way for a change.

Sensing what the older hunter was offering, Dean stilled, was taken off guard by Rufus' consideration. "I appreciate the offer but I've had worse. Just stitch it up and we can head out."

Recognizing a losing battle when he saw one, Rufus nodded once. With that simple gesture, his hand was released. Tossing the hypodermic needle onto the nightstand, he doused sterile pads with antiseptic wash and gently dabbed at Dean's side, washing away the blood and sterilizing the reopened wound. Then with thread and a sewing needle he began stitching the young hunter's flesh together. To Dean's credit, he barely winced the whole time. '_Kid gives a while new meaning to the word stoic,_' and there was as much sorrow in Rufus' declaration as there was respect.

"They don't have to know," Dean broke into the silence, did it when he could control his voice, when it wouldn't register the pain he was in.

Realizing that Dean was picking up their conversation from before, Rufus snorted, "Sure, they won't notice that your baby face got messed up," jerking his chin toward the bloody trail running from the cut on Dean's jaw line down his neck.

"I can handle Bobby and Sam. Your name won't come up," Dean stated, didn't know what cock and bull story he would tell but whatever it was, it didn't have to include Rufus.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Rufus stilled his stitching, met Dean's eyes, couldn't believe the kid was being so thick headed. "Why would you not tell Singer that I made you drive four hours and then hauled you around on a hunt, let you get hurt. More hurt."

A touch of Dean's cockiness expressed itself in his small smile. "Ego much? I think you're forgetting that **I** decided to come get you out of jail. I volunteered to hunt with you. And it's not your **job** to protect me. So me getting hurt, that's all on me."

Rufus couldn't help smile. He didn't believe a word Dean was saying but he was beginning to admire the kid more and more.

He was mid stitch on Dean's baby face when his phone rang. Keeping to his task, he let it go to voice mail. But no more than twenty seconds later, it was ringing again.

"Sounds like someone really needs to talk to you. Go take it," Dean suggested, strongly.

Glaring at his patient, Rufus grabbed his cell, belligerently growled a greeting, "Yeah what?" But when he heard the voice on the other end, he knew he had jumped the gun, had been too ticked off at the kid for telling him what to do that he never took the time to look who was calling

"Yeah, it's Bobby. I need you to do something."

Rufus glared down at Dean. "I'm in the middle of…."

"I don't care if you're in the middle of dying!" Bobby gruffly snapped, his tone coming across as anger but Rufus knew better. There was fear running rampant through his old friend. "You owe me and today you're paying up."

Stepping back from Dean, Rufus crossed the room, leaned against the table, absently stared down at his hand, the one coated in the kid's blood that Bobby loved like a son. Fisting his hand and putting it out of his sight, he turned his back on Dean, knew he would lie better if he didn't have an audience. "Ok what do you need," he calmly asked, like he couldn't guess what was putting Bobby Singer into a tailspin of worry.

"Sam and I are on a job and Dean's at my place, healing up but he's not answering his phone. So get your butt over there and check on him."

Turning slowly around, Rufus pinned Dean with a furious look. The kid had put him in this no-win situation by his careless actions, by not telling him that he was hurt and by not keeping in contact with Singer and his brother. "You haven't heard from him, that right?" hoping the kid knew it was meant as a reprimand for him, for his stupid actions. Dean, however, didn't look all that contrite, instead his chin jutted out like he was just daring him to rat him out.

"You need a translator," Bobby snapped angrily. "Now stop talking and start heading south."

Before Rufus could form a comeback, Bobby cut the connection. Giving the phone a glare before he tossed it carelessly on the tabletop, Rufus stalked over to Dean. "I am NOT getting a behind full of buckshot courtesy of one Bobby Singer because of your bad judgment."

Dean shifted up to lean against the headboard, gave Rufus a weak but smug smirk. "You mean my bad judgment of coming here, getting you out of jail, backing you tonight on the hunt, that bad judgment?"

Rufus gritted his teeth, hated that the kid had him there, on all accounts. Dean had been there for him, had gone above and beyond the call of duty. The least he could do was not feed the kid to Bobby and his overreacting father tendencies. "Just call your brother and get Singer off my back."

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I would love to know if you're still enjoying the story.

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3: GPS Doesn't Lie

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

Author's Note: Since you guys have been so supportive, I hurried and got this part ready to go.

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Chapter 3: GPS Doesn't Lie

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When his phone rang, Sam hastily dropped his shotgun in the trunk. "Dean?"

"Ten messages is borderline, but 15? That's stalker territory, Sammy," Dean teased.

"Where have you been Dean!" Sam exhaled, his relief tied up with annoyance. "I called the land line. I called your cell."

"What? A guy can't get some sleep without getting the 3rd degree," Dean shot back, tried to make his tone light, hoped Sam didn't realized that he hadn't really answered his question. Because out and out lying to Sam, that wasn't something he wanted to do, especially over something as trivial as him hanging out with Rufus.

Sam paused, ran Dean's words through his internal lie detector. "Dean, I've been calling for hours," he said, willing to come clean about his own worry in the hopes that it would prompt Dean to open up to him.

"I guess I was more wiped out than I realized," Dean confessed, allowed his true exhaustion to seep through the words.

Hearing the weariness in his brother's voice, Sam sighed, felt like such a tyrant for chewing Dean out for being too exhausted to even hear the phone ring. "Sorry. I just…" he shook his head, wasn't willing to say the truth aloud '_Got scared out of my mind_.' "Wanted to make sure everything was OK on the home front."

"It's down right tranquil, Sammy," Dean drawled with disdain.

Sam chuckled. "Good. Now keep it that way."

"So, did you call for my expertise on all things creepy?"

"No. Believe it or not, Bobby and I do just fine without your input."

"Ouch, wound me."

"Anyway, we think we have a lead but it'll be another night time stakeout to be sure. You OK there by yourself for a few more days?" Sam asked, though he expected ridicule to follow his question.

"Oh, I don't know. It gets lonely around here. Maybe I'll just visit the local bar, see if I can scare up some company," Dean threatened, wasn't disappointed in his brother's response.

"Dean, come on. Just give it a few more days, let yourself heal…"

"You missed your true calling, Sam. I hear nursemaids get paid the big bucks."

"I deserve big bucks for putting up with you," Sam grumbled but there was affection wafting through his voice.

"Sticks and stones, Sam. Sticks and stones."

"So you're not…."

"Gonna have a party while my parents are away? No," Dean retorted.

Sam didn't bother to bluster at Dean's smart aleck comments, not as long as Dean was agreeing to his terms. There was just one more thing he had to know to settle his mind. "And you're taking the antibiotics…"

"I am hanging up now, Sam."

"Answer your phone when I call!" Sam ordered, wasn't sure if Dean heard him say it before his brother rudely disconnected their call.

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Putting in the final stitches to the cut on Dean's jawline, Rufus eyes slid up to Dean's profile. "Bobby isn't waving me off my babysitting duty." It had been a good half an hour since Dean's call to his brother and yet there had been no callback to him from Singer, no '_false alarm, you don't gotta go'_ message.

Without looking at the older hunter, Dean curtly supplied, "I talked to Sam, told him I'm kicking back nice and safe at Bobby's."

"Well apparently you didn't sell it well enough," Rufus accused, expected a slice of anger from the kid but only got a cocky rising of his eyebrows.

"I sold it great."

"Yeah, so great that Bobby still wants me to stop in and check up on you. I'ld never guess you lie for a living," he gave as his parting shot before he slipped into the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands.

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"It ain't in there," Bobby cut into the silence of the motel room that he was sharing with Sam.

The figure slumped over the laptop shifted and a head popped up, eyes finding his over the laptop's screen. "What isn't?"

"Answers for this hunt."

"Oh, yeah, I know," Sam hurriedly agreed before his eyes again zeroed onto the computer screen.

"I take it your talk with Dean didn't go well?" Bobby asked, always tried to tread carefully when it came to the relationship between the two Winchester boys.

Sam's head didn't come up as he answered, "No, it went fine."

"So fine that you keep checking your phone every five minutes to see if you missed a call and you've been obsessing over something on that dang computer for over an hour."

Caught red handed, Sam exhaled and sat back in his chair, turned in his seat to face the older hunter that knew him so well. He shrugged. "I don't know. Dean sounded….off."

"Off?"

"I don't how to explain it."

"Well try," Bobby gruffly demanded, trusted Sam's instincts, especially when it came to his brother.

Sam shook his head, not in denial of the request but confusion. "I don't know. Something. He sounded…tired yeah but more than that."

"Like what? Hurt? You think the fool over did things?"

Sam rubbed his mouth with his hand and stood up, poured a glass of water, didn't want to think about Dean being further hurt while he was hundreds of miles away. Leaning against the kitchen countertop he saw that Bobby's attention hadn't drifted from him, was as focused as ever. "Maybe. And there was…I don't know. Something he wasn't telling me."

Bobby remained silent at that announcement. He had learned, by way too much experience, that getting between the brothers when they were lying to one another was a no win situation. Especially since he loved both of the fools so much.

Sam felt ashamed as soon as he uttered the words. "I don't mean…I don't think…. This isn't about trust. I _trust_ Dean." He wanted that to be made clear. He didn't think Dean was betraying him. His brother just wasn't laying all his cards on the table.

"Ok," Bobby drawled neutrally but when Sam didn't follow up with a clarification, he took the plunge. "You trust Dean but …."

Eyes moving from his inspection of his shoes back to Bobby, Sam looked indecisive. "Dean…he doesn't always…do what's best for himself."

Bobby couldn't fight down a snort. "That's the understatement of the year."

Sam glared at Bobby, took offense to the hunter besmirching his brother's good name.

Bobby raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. So you think Dean's off doing something.." he wanted to say 'stupid' but at the last second he tamed it down to, "he's not up to doing?"

"I can't shake that feeling Bobby."

And the kid looked so wracked with guilt and worry that Bobby sighed and confessed, "I didn't call Rufus back. He should be at my house in a three, four hours."

Sam's eyebrows rose sky high. "And you didn't tell me this why?"

It was Bobby's turn to shrug. "Thought you would think I was getting soft on you."

Sam's grin reminded Bobby of Dean's, as did the kid's smart aleck comeback. "Ornery Bobby Singer, fierce hunter and generally crotchety old man _soft_, nah?"

Bobby pointed a reprimanding finger at Sam. "Watch your tongue, boy. I'm all for corporal punishment you know." To which Sam laughed hardily until a "bing" from his computer stole his attention.

Crossing over to his laptop, Sam reclaimed his chair, tapped on the keyboard and then promptly scowled at the screen.

"Something wrong?" Bobby asked, sensing trouble was knocking as he came over to stand behind Sam's chair.

"Yeah, you could say that," Sam bitterly shared. "I searched the GPS on Dean's cell." He looked at Bobby. "Dean's in Dakota, alright. But it's North Dakota."

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Dean was rethinking his stance on taking some of Rufus' painkillers when his cell phone rang. Painfully shifting upright on the bed, he tried to get his breathing normal before he answered his brother's call. "So you do need some of my advice on the hunt," he greeted, hoped his cockiness overshadowed his shallow breathing.

"Ah, still no. Just checking in. You catching up on more sleep?" Sam fought hard not to let his anger reveal itself, not yet.

"Yeah. Tell Bobby he needs a new couch."

Jaw clenching at Dean's continued pretense, Sam breathed through his nose, reminded himself that Dean was hurt. Even if his idiot brother forgot that important fact, he hadn't. "I'll tell him. Hey, I was hoping you could look up one thing in Bobby's one book."

Silently Dean swore. '_Why'd I goad Sam about needing my help with this hunt?' _Because, that cocky taunt? It was about to bite him on the butt. And the sad truth was, Sam was probably only asking him for help to be nice, to stroke his big brother's bruised ego.

Dean was still contemplating his comeback when Rufus' ill timed return made an excuse unnecessary.

"Take your burger and shut up," Rufus said in the way of a greeting as he entered the motel room, shut the door with his foot and started to turn around to face his fellow hunter. "We'll drop you off in the morning for your car and …" he fell silent as he saw that Dean was furiously waving him off. And then he saw it: the cell phone Dean had pressed to his ear.

Sam gripped his cell phone tightly in his hand as all the pieces fit together. Dean + North Dakota + Rufus = a hunt. "You stupid jerk!" the shout erupted out of him like a gusher of volcanic ash. "Rufus is with you, isn't he. You two are working a job!"

Dean gave a mocking laugh but his "What? No," was weak, was practically a confession of guilt.

"Dean, you promised to rest!"

"I did," Dean countered but lightly because he knew he was on shaky ground with his brother. Very shaky ground.

Sam's humph was accusation and anger incarnate.

"For a few hours," Dean clarified his declaration. "Rufus was in jail, just needed someone to bail him out."

But Sam's retort was a menacing hiss, "You should have called us."

"I was closer."

"You were in **no** condition to hop in a car and drive five hours…." Sam thundered, hands fisted as he paced the small confines of the motel room.

Dean reciprocated Sam's anger with cocky reassurances, "The day I can't drive…."

"It was a stupid risk and you know it!" Sam shouted loud enough to rattle the windows. The terror of hefting his bleeding brother back to Bobby's after the hunt and the past few hours of fear all resurfacing. It made breathing hard and forgiving Dean's recklessness with his health nearly impossible at that moment.

Cut off at the knees by the anger in Sam's voice, Dean fell silent, always hated when he and Sam were at odds. Quietly, he pointed out, "Sammy, he needed my help."

But it was Bobby's voice that volleyed back a guttural growl. "You stupid idiot! I will deal with you later. Put Turner on the phone."

"He's not.." Dean began, intending to deflect Bobby's anger from the other hunter.

"It sound like I'm asking?" Bobby's acidly demanded.

Chagrined, Dean held up the phone to Rufus, an apology in his eyes.

Resigned, Rufus angrily snatched the phone from Dean's grasp. He talked before Singer could. "Number 1: I didn't ask him to come for me. Number 2: The idiot didn't mention he was on the mend." He never got to Number 3.

"You need flash cards!" Bobby roared from across the phone lines. "You called needing help. No way Dean was going to fail you. And wasn't it a _clue_ to you that he's paler than half the stiffs we shove back in a grave. The fact that Sam wasn't with him, that didn't get you thinking something was _wrong_?"

"I am not the kid's keeper!" Rufus railed back, his dander up at Bobby's accusations that all this was his fault. "I let that up to you, Papa Singer," but even as the words left his mouth, he wished to recall them, especially with Dean there hearing every word. But as he meekly shot a look to Winchester, the kid wasn't scowling..but smiling. '_He's enjoying this. Me getting chewed out by Singer,' _he realized, sending Dean a glare that would have killed lesser men on the spot. Dean didn't even have the good grace to even look intimidated.

Rufus wasn't the only one cursing his loose tongue. Bobby wasn't too proud of spewing all that out with Sam hanging on every word, every accusation. Accusations that weren't meant to incriminate Sam. But judging by how pale the kid suddenly was, Sam had taken them all to heart. '_Crap, Sam. I didn't mean these were signs you missed. That I think you should have stayed home with Dean_…' Promising to mend those bridges with Sam later, Bobby returned his wrath onto the fool that was always bragging about how observant he was.

"If Dean looks worse off than how I left him, you'll wish it was John Winchester you were dealing with," Bobby threatened, meaning every single word. "Now drive Dean home."

"He's got your old Monte Carlo…."

"Did I ask for a run down on his rental?" Bobby venomously drawled.

Rufus actually shifted on his feet like an errant school boy. "He _drove_ here…"

"Yeah and you're driving him back in the Monte."

"My car's…"

"I don't give a rat's behind if it gets ransacked for parts. **Drive the kid home**. Now put Dean on."

Rufus almost wore a sympathetic expression as he passed the phone back to Dean, who reluctantly took it.

"Bobby, you're overreacting."

"So sue me! Boy, why don't you _think_?" But when Dean's reply was only a hurt silence, Bobby's heart twisted a little and he instantly felt sorry that he had let his tongue run amuck. His next words were void of anger but they were instilled with no-nonsense steel, "Rufus is taking you home." Hearing an intake of breath across the phone lines, he ruthlessly cut off Dean's protest, "That ain't up for debate, so zip it. And when you get back to my place, **keep your butt there**. I'll take Sam and I at least two days to get back."

"I don't…." Dean objected but it was to thin air. Bobby had said his piece and promptly hung up on him.

From his position at the table, Rufus stopped eating long enough to call over to his roommate, "Great plan, by the way. Going AWOL. I especially enjoy the part where you drag me in front of a firing squad."

Dean rubbed his forehead and tossed the phone unto the nightstand. "Yeah, sorry about.." he jerked a thumb toward his phone, "That Bobby's…."

"… an overprotective momma bear when it comes to you two boys," Rufus finished irritably, watched as Dean's face twisted, not with embarrassment but disbelief.

Mystified at Rufus's description of Bobby, Dean couldn't find words for a moment, and then he didn't have to.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Rufus gruffly bit out, cursing himself for getting caught on the wrong side of his long time friend's loyalties. Snatching the other burger off the table, he lobbed it at Dean, who easily caught it. "Now, is it too much to ask to be able to eat my meal in peace?"

"Nope," Dean answered as he took a healthy bite of his burger, watched as Rufus began reading the newspaper while he ate.

Without turning to face Dean, Rufus threw out, "And kid, for the record, next time I'm in jail… **Let Me There**."

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and I love reading your thoughts on the story!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4: Traveling Music

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

Author's Note: I do make a small reference to my other fic "Unexpected Guests." I just didn't want you to think you missed a conversation between Bobby and Rufus in the series.

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Chapter 4: Traveling Music

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Bobby was about to toss Sam's cell phone back to him when he came face to face with the pissed off wall of Sam. Though every survival instinct he owned was clamoring for him to back down, he instead offered up a gruff challenge, "What?"

"Ya hung up," Sam gritted out, accusation singeing the three words.

Offhandedly Bobby lobbed back, "That's what you do when you're done talking."

"**You** were done talking…**I** wasn't," Sam just barely kept his tone a few decibels below a bellow. "My cell," he clarified, ripping it from Bobby's hand, "My decision when a conversation is over with **my** **brother**."

Sam didn't get territorial over Dean with Bobby often but when it happened, Bobby was usually smart enough to be contrite. This time was no different. Exhaling, he solemnly admitted, "You're right, Sam," but he couldn't help follow it with an excuse. "But Rufus, he knew where Dean was when I called him before….I guess I lost my temper."

Giving a short nod of understanding at Bobby's confession, Sam turned away.

But instead of calling Dean back, as Bobby predicted, Sam pocketed his phone, picked up his duffle bag and pulled out his shotgun. It was on the tip of Bobby's tongue to ask who Sam planned on shooting, Rufus or Dean but the tight set of Sam's shoulders had the older hunter's self preservation instincts kicking in and he snapped his mouth shut. Silently he observed Sam as he methodically loaded the shotgun with salt rounds and stowed it back in the weapon's bag. Bobby wasn't prepared for Sam's head to snap up and his eyes to settle on him with daunting intensity.

"You coming?" Sam brusquely asked, impatience humming through his body to be out the door.

"Tell me where to and I might be," Bobby hedged, kid didn't have to know he would follow him anywhere, had even been prepared to follow him into that cage in Hell.

"Finish this job," Sam bluntly supplied, determinedly settling the bag on his shoulder and heading for the door, seemingly uncaring if Bobby joined him.

"Can't hunt this ghost until night fall."

"Watch me," Sam tersely bit out as he walked out of the motel room, left the door open as an invitation for Bobby to come along with him.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," Bobby grumbled under his breath as he picked up his own weapon bag and followed Sam out the door. Found himself starting to lay odds who was going to have a worst time of it before the Winchester brothers were back together: him or Rufus.

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The silence that was stilting the air in the motel room, Dean understood it only too well. Rufus showed anger just like John Winchester had. His Dad wouldn't spare him a glance and the only talking he would initiate would be a low growled order or more dressing-down for whatever stupid mistake he had made.

"We're leaving at first light so have your crap together and don't whine about needing any breakfast," Rufus ordered out of the blue, his eyes still focused on the knife he was sharpening.

All his childhood and into his late twenties, Dean Winchester had been a 'yes sir' type of son. He had done anything, _everything_ his father asked…until his father had asked the impossible. For him to kill Sam. That was the break, was his break. Had fractured the pedestal he had put his father on, had decimated the faith he had in the one man he thought would always protect him and Sam. But it had done more than obliterate any hero worship tendencies he once harbored, it had made him venomously rail at the idea of following anyone's orders.

That was before the last couple of hellish years had happened, making it nearly impossible for him to trust anyone, even Sam. Maybe especially Sam.

But since Sam's soul had been returned to him, his trust in Sam had solidified by leaps and bounds. Proved that, like reforged steel, some things were stronger after they were broken, when they were all but destroyed. That the resilience of what remained, it made a stronger, better, more stable cornerstone than ever. So yeah, he trusted Sam. But wholly trusting Bobby? The desire to do so was practically as ingrained in him as strongly as trusting his own father had been. And that, was part of the problem. He couldn't do that again, follow someone blindly, no matter how much he loved then, how easy it would make things for him.

And then there was Rufus.

The hunter had been there for him, on more than one occasion. There was no doubt about that. But that didn't mean the man had the right to make decisions for him. And, frankly, neither did Bobby.

Not giving a word of objection to Rufus's plan, Dean painfully but determinedly levered himself off the bed, slid his cell phone in his pocket and stiffly grabbed his coat off the foot of the bed. Praying that he wasn't listing like a drunk, he headed for the door.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Rufus snapped his head up just in time to watch Dean walk out of the room. "Where you going?" he demanded only to find that he was talking to a closed door. Nearly knocking his chair backwards as he stood up, he crossed the room and flung open the door. Leaning against the doorframe, he tracked Winchester's slow progress toward the motel office. "You feel like a stroll or is this what a thirty year old having a temper tantrum looks like."

Dean didn't even bother turning around, knew it would waste whatever miserly pool of energy he had. But he did toss out a "Screw you, Rufus," for good measure

"You already screwed me over, kid, by putting me between you and Singer," Rufus called to Dean's back.

"Well then your problem ends now," Dean bit out, angrily yanking open the door of the motel office and cursing himself a second later when fire raced across the tears in his side. Mercifully out of Rufus' sight, he put his hand over the wound, braced it as he lumbered the few steps to the office desk.

Laying down the magazine he was reading, the desk clerk sporting the afro glared at Dean for interrupting him. "Yeah?"

"Can you tell me where the closest bar is?" Dean asked, leaning against the counter to keep himself from swaying.

The clerk snorted. "Dude, you have so come to the wrong town. We're dry as a bone. Closest bar is next town over which is about a twenty mile run."

"Ok, grocery store?" Dean easily switched to his second favorite locale to hotwire a car.

"You mean like a Giant?" the man's jeer coming through loud and clear. "We have some rinky-dink store, I think most of their stuff is outdated though they won't admit it."

Dean gruffly interrupted, "People?" Noting that the kid was starting to look pissed, was probably two seconds away from calling the cops on him for harassment, he drew in a calming breath, rubbed his hand across his sweat slick forehead and levelly asked, "So where do people hang out around here?"

"At night?" Again there was that scoffing tone. "In the next town over….…"

"Twenty miles away," Dean finished, gave the countertop a pat and said, "Yeah, good talking to you." He used the countertop to push himself into motion. Rufus was smugly leaning against the motel wall as he exited the office.

"You shoulda said you wanted to meet new people. I would have taken you to the hospital, plenty of people to socialize with there," Rufus taunted, having heard every word Dean exchanged with the clerk. He knew what the kid was looking for, and it wasn't companionship.

Scowling at Rufus, Dean headed for the road. Since the motel had zero patrons beside him and Rufus, it left him with no car to borrow. '_Fine, I'll hitchhike back to Bobby's car_,' he vowed. '_Or walk_,' he dismally concluded as he stood in the middle of the two lane blacktop, saw no cars coming in either direction. The trouble with picking a non descript motel out in the boonies to hole up in was…it was out in the boonies. Sure, no cops drove by the strip of road in front of the motel…but neither did anyone else.

Rufus swore quietly as soon as Dean was out of earshot. The kid had that angry, determined look about him. The one Bobby always said to watch out for. And then there was the fact that the kid looked about out on his feet, pale, sweating, gait determined, yeah, but slow, as if each step was a measured one. Part of him was almost convinced the kid wouldn't go far, would scamper back and see reason. But another part of him knew that someone stubborn enough, strong willed enough to tell all of Heaven where to stick it wasn't going to let a little thing like a ripped open side and pain stop him from doing exactly what he wanted to do.

"I shoulda used my one phone call to order a pizza," Rufus grumbled as he stalked back to the room, knew that, as far off the beaten path as their motel was, he had plenty of time to grab his crap from the room, pack it in the car and still catch Dean hoofing it down the road toward civilization.

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Bobby knew the Winchesters always somehow managed to do the impossible. Seeing it first hand on something as simple as a ghost hunt, it would have been awe-inspiring if he wasn't so furious. "Great plan," he sardonically shouted to Sam's back as the younger man determinedly marched back to the car. "Ticking off the ghost to come out after you."

"Worked," Sam roughly replied, opening the trunk of the Impala and dropping his weapons in the hidden space, waited impatiently for Bobby to do the same.

Coming to a stop in front of Sam, Bobby refused to let the kid's height or his obstinate expression intimidate him. "Yeah, just brilliant," he darkly drawled. "'Cept for the part where it almost gutted you."

"No it didn't," Sam belligerently denied, voice rising at the accusation.

"It was close, horseshoes and grenades close," Bobby grumbled as he dumped his cache of weapons in the trunk, watched as Sam slammed the trunk and stalked for the driver's door. The kid was purposefully pretending to not hear him…or admit he had been reckless. But as Bobby headed to the passenger side of the Impala, he lectured himself to remember what was prompting Sam's urgency to wrap up the hunt.

Sinking into the passenger seat, he shot a glance to Sam. The kid didn't look all that proud for tricking the ghost into coming out during daylight or even that happy at having wrapped up the hunt hours, maybe days before Bobby ever thought possible. '_Guess once you saved the world a time or two, other victories are a little stale.'_

His voice was a cross between a gruff taunt and a gentle inquiry when he broke the silence in the car, "You wanna tell me what's wrong now or should I just start guessing."

Sam shot Bobby a blistering look. "Dean's hurt, maybe you …"

"No, Sam, I haven't forgotten that!" Bobby sliced through the kid's words. "But he's not dying." And it was the wrong words to use, the wrong memories to dredge up, didn't need to see the jump in Sam's jaw or watch Sam's expression go stone cold to know that. Death, grief, it wasn't a joking matter, not when they had been there, done that, on too many occasions.

Rubbing his hand across his beard, Bobby wondered if Sam would have the decency to drop him off somewhere he could boost a car or if the kid would wait until they were in the middle of God's country to order him out of the Impala. What he didn't expect was for Sam to start rattling off a list of creatures.

"Djinn, skinwalker, fairies, shapeshifters, _vampires,_" Sam spit out the last monster in his list with hate filled emphasis as his eyes pinned Bobby where he sat. "Dean's gone up against all that and I wasn't there, not me ME. And now I'm not there again. And he's off doing who knows what…"

"Rufus is with him, Sam," Bobby tried to instill confidence in his tone but by Sam's near eye roll, he knew the kid didn't have much faith in his old friend's ability to keep Dean in line. "He's not alone."

"But…" Sam clamped his mouth shut, looked away, didn't want to come off as some insecure child. But the truth was, he wanted to be the one with Dean. As much as he loved Bobby, as much as he trusted Bobby, only Dean's presence could keep him from scratching at the wall, could remind him that, no matter what he had done, souled or unsouled, Dean hadn't abandoned him. That there was some part of him still worthy of his brother's devotion, love.

Sam didn't need to finish his statement, Bobby got it. Sam and Dean were only ever going to be happy together. It had taken a lot of years, a lot of heartbreak, almost the end of the world for that to sink it…to him and to the boys both. "Ok," he reasonably exhaled, "so what's our next move? Call Rufus and tell him to stay put, that we'll be there by tomorrow?"

Sam's eyebrows rose at the suggestion. "They are in **North** Dakota, Bobby. We'd drive right by your place coming to them."

"Watch your tone, boy! I know that!" Bobby spat, struggled to regain his temper but saw Sam was unexpectedly fighting to not smile. "Oh, now you think something is funny."

"No," Sam denied but there was the hint of laughter in his tone.

"What?" Bobby ordered.

Sam pointed, not to Bobby but to his own healthy head of hair. "You got…a tuff of hair…."

Absently reaching up, Bobby located the out of place hair that Sam found so amusing. Trouble was, it came away in his hands. Dropping his hand, he looked down at the chunk of hair the ghost had ripped loose. "Balls! It's not like I got a lot of this to spare."

Sam's laughter echoed throughout the car and Bobby's heated glare only made the kid's mirth spike higher. Angrily tossing the hair unto the floor, Bobby was about to lay into Sam but the sight of a laughing Sam stopped him cold. And it hit him then, he had Sam back, the real one The kid that liked to laugh and got pissy when you told him to do something he didn't want to and the man who would lance you with a killer glare if you said something to hurt his brother. That Sam was back, and that filled that last tendril of ache in him, the one the soulless Sam had created. All in all, it was well worth a few more grey even missing hairs on his head.

Chuckling, Bobby shook his head. "Lord help me, but I missed this," he admitted, happiness shining in his eyes as they held Sam's.

"Losing hair?" Sam taunted, earning him Bobby's glare.

"No, idjit. This, us, hunting together, ganging up on Dean."

The smile slowly faded away to something solemn on Sam's features. "We didn't…you didn't…"

Bobby shrugged. "Dean wasn't around for a year and you…" he shot Sam a look, corrected, "_He_ didn't hang around me much, preferred the Campbell's company to mine."

Sam nodded sagely, "Stayed with people who didn't know him, wouldn't recognize something was off."

Bobby didn't offer up any agreement or disagreement, still felt like such a fool for not seeing what Dean had the second he was reunited with Sam, that something wasn't right, that something wasn't all Sam. Suddenly, he braced himself to endure Sam's lecture for his unacceptable oversight.

"And you…you didn't tell Dean… I was back?" Sam asked, tried to not let his emotions slip through his walls.

"You didn't want me to and I stupidly agreed," Bobby gruffly admitted, self hatred brimming in his words.

To which Sam simply nodded. "And when Dean found out, he was…."

Bobby meant to say Dean was pissed but what slipped out was more the truth, "Hurt." He watched as Sam bit his lip as if Dean's pain was something he caused instead of him. "I was wrong and …I can't blame Dean for not trusting me like he used to. In his eyes, I betrayed him, kept you from him."

"I'm glad you did," Sam firmly stated, took in Bobby's surprised expression. "I might not know everything that happened but I know I didn't want that…that _thing_ around Dean any longer than he had been."

For all the bravery Bobby credited himself with having, he cowardly didn't pursue that conversation, simply nodded in agreement. He didn't want to think about what that other Sam would have done to Dean if he had been successful in killing him.

Starting the Impala, Sam backed it around and started off for their motel, knew that, as anxious as he was to get on the road, he and Bobby needed to take showers.

"I know you don't know Rufus all that well but he'll watch out for Dean," Bobby reassured. "Knows I'll kill him if he doesn't."

Sam gave a small smirk and shot Bobby a quick glance. "After all this time, you still can't see it," and there wasn't accusation but mystification in the younger man's tone.

"See what?"  
>"Dean isn't going to let Rufus drive him home, Bobby," Sam pointed out with almost a gentle scoff. "This is the guy who Meg <em>shot<em> and he didn't bother to tell you that, didn't tell me until he pulled over after driving ten hours. He crawled out of the hospital after he was electrocuted, had a friggin' heart attack and the doctor said he wouldn't live a _month_. Came out of Hell and just….pretended to forget it, tried to bury everything by non-stop hunting. Dean doesn't stay still, doesn't stop, not over something as trivial as him being in pain and misery."

"So what, we get Rufus to slip him a micky?" Bobby caustically suggested.

"No! I'm just saying…" Sam struggled a moment to figure out just what he was concluding. "Ordering Rufus to drive Dean home is one thing, ordering Dean around, especially when he's feeling vulnerable, it just makes him more determined to do his own thing."

"In a clash of wills between Rufus and Dean, your money is on Dean?" Bobby challenged, was the recipient of a cocky smile from Sam.

"Every single time," Sam unflappably agreed, had learned the hard way that, betting against his brother was a sure fire way to lose his bankroll.

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Rufus was surprised Dean had made it as far as he had, wasn't surprised at how slow the kid was moving now. Drawing the car along side Dean, he paced the younger hunter's progress, called through the open window, "You done with your stroll?"

Dean didn't even acknowledge his presence.

"Look, I'm gonna tell you a little story. Once upon a time Singer ordered me to take your butt back to his place. I agreed. The End," Rufus gruffly recounted, thought he made progress when Dean looked his way, until he saw the hardness in the kid's eyes.

"Well, you tell _Bobby_ I wanted some alone time."

"Yeah, sure. I might as well go dig my own grave in Singer's salvage yard," Rufus irritably shot back.

Coming to a stand still, Dean waited onto Rufus' car rolled to a stop before he leaned into the window, bitingly goaded, "You're _really_ that afraid of Bobby?"

'_Yes, when it comes to you and your brother_ _I am'_ came instantly to Rufus but aloud he sharply refuted, "No." But when the kid started to straighten up, was about to resume his death march, Rufus growled, "You think he's going to survive losing either of you boys again? I don't think even you're that dense in the head."

"He's not going to lose us," defiance made Dean's words come out harsh.

Rufus gave a derogative snort. "Because you take such good care of yourself?" Though reproof was the forefront emotion he displayed, that didn't mean it was the only one he felt. He had once admitted to Singer that he liked Dean, that the kid had gotten under his skin. And that was still true, even truer the more he got to know Dean Winchester.

Dean shifted on his feet, honestly didn't want to make Bobby worry, or Sam. But he wasn't a case for charity either, could survive on his own, had. "I don't need a chauffeur," he spit out. "All I need is a lift back to Bobby's car and then I'll head home on my own."

Rufus's eyes widened a moment when Dean referred to Bobby's house as his home, knew that, if Bobby had been there to hear it, the old softie would have gotten all teary eyed. But as much as he wanted to agree to the kid's wishes, he knew he couldn't. Not when Bobby was trusting him to see the kid home, safe and sound, and not when the kid looked like a strong wind would knock him on his can. It was time to pull out the big guns. He made a show of pulling out his phone, dialing.

"Now you're calling Bobby?" Dean whined like the kid Rufus thought he was.

"Nope," Rufus denied.

His attention snagged, Dean leaned through the window again. "Then who are you calling?"

Rufus swung his eyes up to Dean's. "Your brother." Immediately Dean's eyes flashed with anxiety. "If you won't listen to me and you don't care what Bobby wants, I think your little brother might have something he wants to say to you. Scuttlebutt is, he's kind of attached to you, doesn't really take it well when you're hurt, really wouldn't like it if you ended up dead. **Again**." Rufus heatedly threatened, remembered when the kid's crossroad deal had expired, had seen, first hand, the devastating effects it had on Singer. And Sam's reaction to the loss of his brother? It had nearly ended the world as they knew it.

"Don't," Dean half ordered, half entreated as he reached out, tried to disconnect Rufus' call to his brother. Sam had enough on his plate, didn't need Rufus filling his head with irrational fears. '_More fears_,' he tagged on, because, even as Sam had chewed him out for leaving Bobby's, he had detected that vulnerable, scared tone in his brother's voice. A tone that always squeezed his heart in a vise grip.

Pulling the phone out of Dean's reach, Rufus leaned back against the door but his eyes steadily met Dean's as his call was finally picked up. "Yeah, it's Rufus." And he enjoyed the way Dean Winchester nervously bit his lip, relished the plea in the kid's eyes for him to not rat him out to his brother. Hearing his caller's reply, he continued, "I'll be there in an hour or so. You got the cases of my Blue ready to go?" And then he couldn't hold back his smirk any longer. Didn't bat an eyelash at the molten glare Dean seared into him at his deception. "See ya then," he bid his Johnnie Walker Blue supplier before he disconnected the call.

Before Dean could ream him out, Rufus issued his ultimatum. "You don't get in this car in the next two seconds, it **will** be Sam that I call. Whether you like it or I want to do it, I'm driving you to Bobby's. So go ahead and get your sulking, temper tantrum fits out of your system."

With a curse, Dean wrenched open the passenger door, sank into the seat and angrily slammed the door shut. "I'm picking the driving music," he growled out his one condition.

To which Rufus laughed bitterly. "Yeah, you change my radio station and you'll have a broken wrist to go along with your stitches." Putting the car in motion, he sped toward the spot where he had left Bobby's Mont Carlo after Dean had gotten hurt, _more_ hurt on the hunt. He shot a sly glance over to his too quiet passenger. Winchester had his head lying back on the headrest and his eyes closed. The vulnerable, defeated pose made a surge of worry flare in Turner.

"You better not have pulled out any of my stitch work," he said, hoped he got more of a true response with gruffness than a show of worry. But Dean remained stoically silent. "You gonna hurl?"

"Might," Dean mumbled. Let that fear rise in Rufus before he quietly said, "Listening to some music I like, that would probably settle my stomach right down."

Rufus' laughter boomed in the car's small confides. Admitting that he was beat, Rufus flicked on the radio. Instantly, Dean sat forward, pushed his hand aside and began to turn the dial. With begrudging admiration, he watched as the kid, with a smug smile, soon filled the interior of the car with seventies era music. Then Winchester contently sat back in his seat, his hand tapping his knee, keeping time with the beat of the music and his eyes scanning the road ahead with interest.

Rufus immediately knew that he had been scammed. The kid had used his worry for him to get his own way. "You think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"Yup," Dean returned with a smile, proud that he had found a way to pay Rufus back for pretending to call Sam.

"Well, enjoy that feeling, kid. I, for one, am looking forward to Singer ripping you a new one," Rufus reveled at the thought of witnessing that particular reunion.

Dean's smile turned to a glare. "Anyone ever tell you you're a bitter old man."

Shooting his passenger a lethal smile, Rufus said, "No one that lived."

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Hearing the start of Bobby's shower, Sam immediately pushed his late dinner aside and grabbed his phone. He knew it was stupid to be holding his breath but did it anyways until his brother's voice came to him.

"You about ready to do another all-night stakeout with Bobby?"

And Sam could tell Dean was trying to play it casual, was keeping his tone light and his greeting friendly. "Yeah, soon," Sam lied, the guilt of his actions smothered by a desire to get back to Bobby's early without prewarning Dean. It was tricky and sneaky and his right as a little brother who deemed himself his big brother's watchdog. Then he tired to match his tone to Dean's, pretended his question wasn't a demand, "So, you and Rufus heading home tonight or tomorrow morning?"

Dean knew a loaded question when he heard one. "We're on the road right now, should be at Bobby's place little after eleven."

Sam wanted to let that stand as all the proof he needed, but it wasn't. "So..ah, Rufus, he's driving you home?"

Dean would have groaned at Sam's less than subtle demand for verification if he didn't worry his brother would misread it as him in pain. "Yes, Sam."

"Good, that's…good," Sam said but it reflected a sad lack of conviction in his brother's declaration.

"Ah for the love of…" Dean grumbled, knew that Sam wasn't going to be satisfied until he had evidence backing up his statement. Pulling the phone back from his ear, he said to his designated chauffeur, "Rufus, say '_Sam's an annoying little girl_' " as he clicked a picture of Rufus behind the wheel of Bobby's infamous Monte Carlo. With a few clicks he sent the picture to Sam's phone.

"There. This proof hold up in court, _councilor_?" Dean mockingly demanded, waited as silence came from the other end of the phone connection.

The tension melted from Sam and he smiled at the disgruntled glare Rufus was aiming at the camera, or more likely to his brother. "We'll label it exhibit A," he conceded, relished what Dean's reply would be. His brother didn't disappoint.

"No, what we'll label it is the last time I'm humoring you Sam. Now go kill Casper and I'll see you in a few days."

"Night Dean."

"Night Sammy."

Ending the call, Sam couldn't keep the goofy smile off his face. He would see Dean tomorrow, not in a few days. And then, he was going to shove the jerk in the panic room or handcuff him to the couch, because one thing he knew for sure, Dean's days of unsupervised convalescing were so over.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for those wonderfully kind reviews for this story!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5: Dependency Issues

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

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Chapter 5: Dependency Issues

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Pulling into the parking lot of the pawn shop, Rufus shut off the Monte Carlo's engine and turned to his traveling companion. His intensions were to tell the kid to not bother getting out of the car, that it was no pit stop. It would take him only a few minutes to get his Johnnie Walker and then they would be on their way. Except Dean was out cold.

The younger hunter was slumped against the passenger door with his arm protectively bracing his wounded left side and the bruised ribs underneath. If the kid had any color to him at all, the neon sign shining in the windshield didn't reveal it. Rufus tried to reassure himself that if the kid had shown up in the jail looking this pitiable he surely would have seen through Dean's bullcrap straight away.

'_Except he didn't and I didn't_,' Rufus bitterly thought, was about as mad at himself for not seeing it as he was at Bobby for being right. He should have realized Dean wasn't at his best…course that was hard to tell when the kid managed to not only spring him from jail, save his life on the hunt AND take out the monster. He would be impressed if he wasn't feeling so guilty.

'_I would have let the kid drive himself home_,' he soberly realized, his gut churning as his imagination conjured up the wrecked, twisted remains, of the Carlo and the kid, that might have resulted in that ill decision. '_Bobby had been right to send the kid home with me_.' Course Singer didn't need to _know that, _miserable cuss already had an ego too big for his cache of hats.

He almost startled when Dean's low voice rumbled in the car. "You keep staring and I'm going to think you have a thing for me." Dean teased without opening his eyes or moving a millimeter.

Recovering quickly, Rufus deadpanned, "Thought you were dead. Was gonna put you in the trunk where all the stiffs go."

"You're hilarious, a real Andrew Dice Clay," Dean shot back, opening his eyes and shifting up in the seat, blinking at the harsh neon light pouring into the car's interior and wincing at the protest clamoring from, not only his tortured torso, but from all his muscles. Contrary to popular belief, getting tackled to the ground was not fun without padding and a million dollar pro ball contract.

Instead of his planned, "Stay put" Rufus found himself asking with a disturbing amount of benevolence "You need to use the bathroom?"

"No, Dad. Thanks though," Dean smart mouthed back which got Rufus exiting the car in a huff, slamming the door and stomping into the pawn shop. Alone, Dean groaned as he leaned his head back against the headrest, pressed his hand harder on the ribs that ached like someone was using them for a keyboard in an AC/DC concert.

Before he was truly awake, he had thought Sam was with him, that he was in the Impala. But the seat under him, it wasn't his baby's and the presence he felt watching him, it wasn't his brother's, knew all that without opening his eyes. Determined, a second before he reached for the knife in his boot, where he was and who he was with: Bobby's Monte Carlo. Rufus.

It was stupid to be so disappointed that Sam wasn't the one with him. Feeling as down right lousy as he did, as off his game as he was, all he wanted to do was to crawl into a corner and let Sammy stand guard over him. '_Yeah, and __**that**__ doesn't sound like I have dependency issues_,' he sarcastically scoffed, sank further into the seat in self-disgust.

He jerked awake, didn't know he had even dozed off until the car door creaked open.

After stashing a box that rattled glass into the backseat, Rufus slipped behind the steering wheel. Without looking at Dean he dumped a bottled water and a pill container in the younger hunter's lap and ordered, "Take some pills. I don't want you looking half dead when your brother and Singer see you."

"Wow. Your concern is really touching," Dean sarcastically drawled. But while the older man's attention was focused on backing the car around and setting them back on the highway, he tossed back three painkillers.

"Aw…does someone need a hug?" Rufus sourly taunted. But he soon realized that he had underestimated his audience.

Smiling cockily, Dean gave a sugary reply, "I thought you'ld never offer. Pull over and we'll have at it."

"You ever think half the trouble you get into is all 'cause of that smart mouth of yours?" Rufus heatedly railed back, eyes swinging between the road and his passenger.

Smugly, Dean pointed out, "I wasn't the one sitting in the pokey with a cellmate winking at me." And then, as if the conversation was over, he slouched down in his seat, pulled his jacket tighter and closed his eyes.

Rufus opened his mouth but ended up snapping it shut. The dang kid had won yet another round.

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Eyeing Sam across the Impala's dark interior, Bobby sarcastically quipped, "You take a vow of silence or something?"

Looking to Bobby in surprised confusion, Sam quickly answered, "No."

"You haven't said more than five words since we've been on the road," Bobby pointed out, working hard to make sure the words didn't come out sounding like an accusation.

Attention focused on the dark, mostly deserted road ahead, Sam shrugged, "Thought you would want to sleep."

"Oh I do," Bobby readily agreed only to testily clarify, "in a bed."

Sam shot Bobby an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry I'm dragging you along with me. I guess we could have figured something else out, another way for you to come home later…"

"You're not dragging me, Sam," Bobby snapped, wanted to get that stupid notion out of the kid's head before it got homey there. But he knew he was too late when Sam turned his big, puppy dog, sad eyes on him the next second.

Sam exhaled, gathered the words he wanted to say, the gratitude he wanted to convey, hoped he only come off _half _the emo-chick Dean teased him of being. "Bobby, all that you've done for me and for Dean…."

"That was not an opening to talk about our feelings," Bobby cut across Sam's earnestness, his tone gruff but not unkind. He knew where the kid was going but his ego didn't require that Sam say it out loud.

Instantly, Sam smiled. Sometimes he forgot that Bobby and Dean, they weren't so different, tended to react the same way when faced with the uncomfortable idea of talking about things, things like emotions. "Fair enough," he allowed, all smiles, saw the small flicker of relief in Bobby's eyes at having been spared the Doctor Phil moment.

But as silence again fell in the car, Bobby shifted in his seat and cursed the fact that he had poked at Sam to talk and then, seconds later, shut the kid down. Did it because _he_ was uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed. '_Well this isn't about me_.'

"Something's eating at you," he prodded quietly, again watching Sam's reactions.

At Bobby's prompting, Sam spent a few seconds trading off looking to road, to Bobby and back to road again. "This is stupid, isn't it?" he dismissed with a rueful shake of his head.

"Probably," Bobby immediately replied before he continued, "Course it would help some if you told me what you're talking about." Sam sent him a mocking glare. "So spit it out."  
>Cowardly not meeting Bobby's gaze, Sam confessed, "Rushing back to your place when Dean's not in danger, when he doesn't <em>need me<em>." And it was pathetic how much that hurt, that Dean didn't need him, was so eager to partner up with someone else that he did so two seconds after he had pulled the Impala onto the highway. Yeah, he knew that, if anyone was needy right then, it was him for Dean's company. He was man enough to admit that, even if it was only to himself.

Bobby heard the almost unperceivable catch in Sam's last two words. A more sentimental man would have said what instantly came to his mind. '_Sam, he's always gonna need you, just like you're always gonna need him.' _But he wasn't wired that way, didn't gush out his emotions like some women did over tea.

Braving a peek to his quiet companion, Sam disparagingly bit out, "Pretty lame, huh? Dean would say I'm having a my-time-of-the-month moment." He tried on a small smile but let it fall away when he recognized that he wasn't selling it with Singer.

Bobby felt absolutely no inclination to scoff at Sam's insecurities. Instead he knew that he had to step up to the plate, had to remember that there was more to "manning up" then being strong. Sometimes it was about allowing yourself to be weak, to admit how you felt. Two stubborn, reckless, opened hearted boys had taught him that. "'Bout as lame as me ordering Rufus to drive Dean home, me helping you pack the car in thirty seconds flat and not complaining that you're breaking just about every posted speed sign from here to South Dakota."

Though it earned him a wary but hopeful look from Sam, Bobby knew he couldn't stop there. "Ya want me to say I'm worried? Fine. I'm worried! Happy now?" he challenged, but Sam wasn't happy, was far from it.

"Did Rufus call you back? Did he say that Dean hurt himself further?" Sam fired question after question, Bobby's worry spiking his own worry higher.

"I haven't talked to Rufus again. Thought if I did I might reach through the phone and kill the jerk. Then who would drive Dean home?"

"Then what's…"

"Got my boxers in a twist?" Bobby finished Sam's question with more color than Sam would have. "You. That's what. If you're getting vibes that Dean's not alright…well…"

Sam raised his eyebrows, couldn't figure out where Bobby was headed. "Well what?"

Bobby shifted in his seat, wasn't all keen to go talking about what Sam should just know. But by the kid's expression, he would have to spell it out to him. "Well, then something's going on with Dean," he briskly said, hoped that said it all.

"Why do you think that?" Sam quietly asked, wasn't trying to be difficult but he needed to know what Bobby's instincts were telling him, hoped the older man wasn't just reacting to his less-than-stable state of mind. After all, his brain, his nerves were hell fried, even if he didn't remember it.

Bobby rubbed his beard. The kid was going to draw it out of him. "Because you do!" he nearly shouted back, hated that Sam _flinched_. "Aw, Sam," he nearly whined, his tone both apologetic and frustrated. "What you and Dean have between you, I've never seen the like. Doubt anyone else ever has either. And after all you've been through, I trust your instincts about Dean as much as I _should_ have trusted Dean's instincts about soulless you," the guilt he still carried for that misjudgment turning his final words sharp.

Hearing the emotion in the older hunter's voice, Sam solemnly nodded, understood regrets, doubt when there should have only been trust.

Reading Sam's expression, Bobby knew that he had to steer the conversation away from past mistakes, focus it on the here and the now. "So how about you start **trusting** those instincts you got," putting enough touch love in the words to garner Sam's surprised attention. "Dean's hurt, yeah, we knew that. Him driving all over creation, we know that didn't do his wounds any favors. But I know that, if you believed for a _second_ that Dean was seriously hurt, you woulda ditched the job. And if you got bad feeling after talking to Dean tonight, you probably would have left me in the shower, headed out on your own, left me some tear stained note of '_sorry about your luck._'"

Like a kid caught red handed slipping out past curfew, Sam mumbled, "How did you know I called Dean when you were in the shower?"

"Cause I know you," Bobby groused, couldn't believe the idjit still thought he was some outsider who didn't know him, didn't hurt when he hurt. "If Heaven and Hell couldn't stop you and Dean from being on speaking terms, a few miles of highway between you sure isn't going to shut you two up."

Smirking, Sam felt some of his tension melt away at Bobby's words, at the older man's faith in the connection he shared with Dean. There was just one more thing he needed to put his fears to rest…at least until he gained his brother's side.

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As the Monte Carlo's engine fell silent in Bobby's driveway, Dean carefully sat up and turned to his designated driver. "I would say let's do this again… " he chuckled, purposefully didn't finish his statement, didn't have to. He knew Rufus's answer already. "Just let me grab my stuff from the trunk…" but with a hard look, Rufus climbed out of the car and slammed the door.

"Okie Dokie then," Dean mumbled at the older man's grumpiness. Then, bracing himself for the pain, he opened up the car door and, with one hand on the top of the door, he levered himself out of the car. Biting off the hiss of pain as the stitches in his side pulled, he pressed his hand against the wound, hated how seemingly every part of his body had stiffened up during the drive.

Grabbing Dean's bag from the trunk, Rufus slammed the trunk shut and saw Dean standing in the open doorway of the car's passenger side, his stooped back facing him. It didn't take someone with anything near his observational skills to know the younger hunter was hurting. Detouring from his planned straight shot to Bobby's front door, Rufus headed toward Dean.

Sensing Rufus' approach, Dean promptly stepped away from the car and shut the door, pretended that he wasn't in pain. Hoped that the older hunter didn't notice the small stumbled step backwards he did to regain his lost balance.

Exchanging Dean's bag to his left hand, Rufus slid his right arm around Dean's waist, didn't miss the defiant lift in the Winchester's jaw or wrongly predict the protest poised on the kid's tongue. "Sooner I get you settled, the sooner I can down that drink Singer owes me. Course all he's got is rotgut," he complained as he started to pull Dean toward Singer's door, was tempted to dive into his newly acquired stock of Johnnie Walker Blue.

Trying to not lean on Rufus, Dean agreed, "Johnnie Walker is a little rich for Bobby's income bracket."

At that true statement, Rufus snorted, "Mine too. Got the cases I picked up on the way here in trade." When Dean raised his eyebrows in question, he smiled darkly, "Trust me, it was the least I was owed."

"Don't doubt it," Dean allowed, knew that, in their line of work, any restitution they got tended to come in strange forms. He tensed as the stairs leading up to Bobby's door loomed ahead, knew that he had two choices: to either lean heavily on Rufus and let the older hunter know just how weak he was or break free of the man's hold. Reaching out, he wrapped his right hand around the railing. "I can take it from here," he announced, steadied himself as he started to step free of Rufus' hold.

Rufus didn't often find himself surprised by people. And then he met Dean Winchester.

Part of him wanted to let the kid go and watch Dean's pride crumble when his legs did. But the other part of him, the part he had tried his best to drown with years of his Johnnie Walker, was still too darn soft, didn't want any more harm to come to the kid.

"Dean, when I want some macho posturing, I'll rent a Rambo movie," he groused as he closed in the space Dean had put between them and re-secured his hold on the kid's waist. He didn't even look at the younger man as he began to pull him up the stairs, didn't miss the fact that Dean was moving his legs like they each weighed a ton. Worried that the kid would do something stupid and collapse on him, he pulled the hunter's trembling, feverish body tighter to his own, forced Dean to lean more heavily on him.

And it was a revelation, how weak Dean was, the heat that was radiating off him, the foggy lucidity in his eyes. It told Rufus a thousand things he knew he should have figured out on his own. Namely that the kid was feeling bad, real bad, had probably been feeling pretty bad when his brother and Singer left him behind. '_And then he came and bailed me out of my jam, backed my play in my hunt. Without a word of protest._'

Rufus hadn't felt such gratitude, affection or guilt in a long while. Maybe years. '_Stupid kid with his white-knight, save-the-world, never-let-down-a-fellow-hunter mumbo jumbo. Miracle he's still alive.' _But his jaw clenched painfully at that thought. Kid had not always survived the paths his heart had led him down.

Instead of hunting around for a spare key, Rufus kicked open Singer's door and carefully maneuvered Dean through the doorway.

"That is not going to earn you any brownie points with Bobby," Dean predicted as he was led into the living room. He was surprised when Rufus didn't simply release him but instead shifted his hold and gently guided him down to sit on the couch.

Rufus opened his mouth but Dean's phone trilled, stole his moment away. He watched as Dean's lips turned up in a crooked smile as he pulled out his phone and answered it without even looking at the caller ID. "Well, if it isn't my favorite stalker. Are you going to ask me what I'm wearing?"

"I _will_ go all Jason on you if you're not soon at Bobby's," Sam threatened but there was mirth threaded throughout his tone.

"We just got to Bobby's," Dean supplied, watched Rufus walk out the door to give him some space to talk privately with his little stalker of a baby brother.

"Well get busy lying on his couch," Sam commanded, wished he was there to ensure Dean did just that.

"Bossy much?" Dean grumbled even as Sam's concern helped ease some of the pain thrumming through his overtaxed body.

"Dean," Sam drew out, unleashing his impatient, pleading tone.

"Ok. Ok. I'll sack out soon."

Sam hesitated, didn't know how his brother would react to his next question. Forging ahead, he tried to sound only mildly curious. "So, is Rufus still there?"

"Yeah, but not for long. Especially after he takes his first sip of Bobby's whiskey," Dean predicted merrily, hoped he was there to watch Rufus' expression when he downed Bobby's less than top shelf liquor.

"Maybe…" Sam began, bit his lip before he pressed on, "maybe you should ask him to hang around tonight."

Instilling righteous indignation in his tone, Dean rebuffed, "Sam, I'm fine. I don't need a visiting nurse…especially not a dude."

In the darkness of the Impala, Sam smiled. That was the spark in his brother's voice he had needed to hear to quiet the worry coursing through him. "Bet Rufus wouldn't look so good in a white nurse's uniform."

"Dude, are you trying to make me sick?" Dean growled, fighting hard to not let that image crawl into his head.

Sam chuckled at his brother's protests. "Maybe he'll tell you a bed time story."

"Bye Sam."

"Tell him not to pick a scary one…" Sam called into the phone right before his brother hung up on him. Again.

Tossing the phone onto the nearest table, Dean, sensing he wasn't alone, looked up, was surprised to see that Rufus had reentered the house. A little worried that the man had overhead his conversation with his brother, he gave the crotchety older hunter a nervous smile. "My brother, he thinks he's such a comedian," he said with a bogus chuckle, hoped that, if Rufus heard anything, he would know it was Sam who started it all.

"That delusion seems to run in your family. Among others," Rufus rebuked, alluding to greater faults than a lame sense of humor.

Dean was about to ask what other delusions when Rufus did the unexpected: He knelt down at his feet and began untying his boot laces. For once, too stunned to speak, Dean could only numbly watch as Rufus' steady, lethal hands gently slid his boots off. He jerked back like he feared the older hunter had gone zombie on him when Rufus stood up and reached for him

"Easy kid," Rufus placated, hands raised non-threateningly in the air. "Was just gonna help you get your coat off," he explained, began to seriously worry that the kid's fever was addling his brain, making him see danger where there was none.

Sam's joke about Rufus going all Clara Barton on him suddenly didn't sound so far fetched. Dean couldn't fight down a shiver.

Dean's tremor only seemed to confirm Rufus' conclusion, had the older man reaching out, intending to feel Dean's forehead for fever. But Dean caught his wrist and scooted to the other end of the couch as if he sought to put more space between them.

"Whoa, there Clara. Personal space, man," Dean timidly joked, was in no way comfortable with Rufus' more caring demeanor.

Rankled at the kid's reaction to his help, especially when he couldn't explain, even to himself, his uncharacteristic desire to ease the younger hunter's pain, Rufus straightened to his full height. Towering over the wounded man, he growled, "Don't '_man_' me. I ain't your personal servant."

"Rufus, I didn't mean…" Dean began to apologize but Rufus was already striding purposefully for the door. Flinching as the door slammed shut on its hinges, Dean muttered darkly, "What a way I have with people." Leaning back on the couch, he closed his eyes, was going to marshal his strength a bit before he moved. Ever again. Would lie down on the couch as soon as he had the strength to lift his legs.

Rufus wasn't even down the stairs before he stopped, cursed. As much as everything in him was yelling to clear out, put as many miles between him and Dean Winchester as he could, he couldn't do it. Not when the younger man was vulnerable, couldn't protect himself if something came looking for a piece of him. And not because _Bobby_ couldn't bear it if the kid went toes up again.

On the hunt, when Dean was attacked, in that split second when he thought the younger hunter might be dead, Rufus remembered what it was like to care for someone. To really care, not just to have a fellow hunter's back because it was the code. It stole the breath right out of him, had him running for Dean's side, offering up entreaties to Someone he had quit on long ago. And in that moment of uncertainty of the kid's fate, he knew that a piece of him would ache if Dean was dead, was taken away. More so than when the kid had fallen under the Hell Hounds claws. It was almost pathetic that it only took one smart mouthed young hunter to undo all the defenses he had built up from years of barracking others out and keeping to himself.

He completely blamed Bobby Singer for sending the kid his way in the first place.

At the creak of the door, Dean opened one eye, tracked Rufus' reappearance, opened both as the man headed straight for him.

Only the man passed right by him, walked to Bobby's desk. Snatching something off of it, he swiveled around and tossed that something Dean's way.

His reaction time shot to heck, Dean clumsily tried to catch the antibiotic pill container but it ended up hitting him in the chest before dropping to his lap. Looking up, he expected Rufus to get in his face, to ream him out, to claim he was only still there because of Bobby. But instead the other man was leaning casually against Bobby's desk, dark eyes holding his. It was an accessing look and Dean didn't think he was going to make the grade, wasn't even up to using his charm to earn extra points.

"I can count on one hand the number of people I trust in a hunt," Rufus spoke evenly, eyes never leaving Dean's. "Don't know of any of them who would have done what you did. Guess they all know I got it coming," he smiled but it wasn't soft and tender, had a bitter mercilessness to it.

"Sure they'ld come," Dean quickly reassured, knew that Rufus was wrong, that Bobby would have come, anyone Rufus called would have come.

And Rufus knew that Dean believed that, didn't realize that his brand of devotion, it wasn't run of the mill. No, it was something extraordinary, especially with the lives they lived, the way it cut into you until your humanity was almost as non-existent as the things you hunted. "Question is, why did you come?" '_Why didn't you call Bobby? Why didn't you beg off because of your injuries? Why didn't you let me down when you owe me nothing?'_

Shrugging almost in embarrassment, Dean answered_, "'_Cause you needed help_." _It was just that simple to him.

Rufus waited for the rest, for the smart aleck deflection, for the now-you-owe-me clause. None of it came. There was no deception in the kid's eyes, was no resentment for the pain he was presently in, was just the unshakeable belief that he had done the right thing. And Dean didn't expect to get a thing back in return.

But Rufus Turner, he always paid his debts, free and clear. He would pay this one too…would just have to start small.

Dean didn't recoil as Rufus approached, held himself still as Rufus reached out and tugged him forward. But Dean gave a token protest as Rufus started to carefully manuever the coat off his aching body.

"I woulda got it," Dean grumbled even as he straightened one arm and then the other so Rufus could divest him of his jacket. He inhaled in surprise as his legs were lifted and then he found himself flat on his back on the couch, a blanket seemingly coming out of nowhere to cover him.

It was a little unnerving for Dean, to admit just how down and out he was and to have only Rufus there, a quiet, intense presence looking down at him. Whatever he expected Rufus to say, it wasn't what he did.

"Some of us can pull off the beard, and some of us can't."

"You saying I can't," Dean challenged, raised a hand to stroke the beard that he had grown in the few days since Sam and Bobby's departure.

"What I'm saying is you shouldn't," Rufus bluntly shot back, could see the kid's vanity was about to swing into action. He headed it off at the pass. "With the look you're sporting, Sam and Bobby will think you've been lost in the woods for four days."

"So you think its better they freak out over another row of stitches?" Dean countered, his fingers finding the stitches in his jawline that the beard concealed.

And it was exactly what Rufus had figured. The kid wasn't being lazy or making a fashion statement. "It's like wearing sunglasses inside, kid. Just proves ya got something to hide." With those sage words, Rufus headed to the kitchen, hoped Bobby had some food in the house because there was no way he was living off of toast and Jim Bean for two days until Singer and the younger Winchester returned.

Rufus' words rattled around in Dean's head. '…_something to hide_.' That had been the nature of things between him and Sam, for years. Maybe their whole lives. Thought maybe it was the unspoken Winchester status quo, to always leave something unsaid, to always keep something guarded, to never show your hand, to never fully _trust_. But he had had a gut full of mistrust: his, Sam's, their father's, heaven's and hell's. And he didn't want to do that anymore, couldn't, surely didn't want to put up another wall that Sam wasn't supposed to scratch at. Didn't want anything else to come between he and Sam, not the truth that he had hunted with Rufus and not how friggin' happy he was that Sam was back, _his Sam_.

So the beard, it was a goner. He wasn't going to try and hide the new war wounds from his brother, would just handle the fallout as it came. Well, it was a goner as soon as he could stand on his own two feet without swaying and his hands were steady enough to hold a razor.

Resolved on his course of action, he started to drift off to sleep, knew that he had a few days to beautify before Sam and Bobby's return. And in the meantime, someone had his back. The same someone he heard pouring liquid into a glass, rummaging through Bobby's refrigerator and whistling quietly, almost contently in the other room.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for everyone's kind reviews!

One more chapter to go!

For those Americans tuning in ~ Have a great July 4th!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6: Homecoming

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

Author's Note: Ok, for two weeks I couldn't write a stitch and now I've gone and written too much! So, I'm gonna break down this "final" chapter into three parts. Hope it still entertains.

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Chapter 6: Homecoming

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It might have been a sound or it could have been his instincts, but something had Rufus' sleep giving way to adrenaline and the older hunter's head snapping up from the kitchen table. Not questioning what had woken him, Rufus surged out of the kitchen chair and pulled his gun. As he stalked determinedly for the door, bracing for whatever was about to come knocking, he tried to loosen up his stiff muscles, wondered when he had dozed off. And though it went against every practical instinct he had, his eyes skipped away from the door, from the threat, slipped instead to who he was guarding: Dean Winchester.

The kid was alright, was still on the couch where he had left him, was sleeping peacefully, at least for the moment. But he knew that could change the next second, had a few times during the night. And he could solely curse the fever for that restlessness in the younger hunter, but he knew it would be a lie. What Dean had running through his head, what slipped out past his defense when he was vulnerable, what had him jerking in his sleep and thrashing his head, it wasn't all nightmares, was something far worse: memories.

Rufus still wasn't sure if his decision to not go to the younger man at those times, to not try and soothe Dean was more about cowardice than insightfulness. Dean was a strong man, he knew that. But whatever had broken him, it was stronger. And Rufus didn't want to see the look in the kid's eyes, the pain, the brokenness, anymore than Dean would want him to see it.

So he had sat in that wooden, uncomfortable kitchen chair of Bobby's, his hand tightening around his glass so hard it was a miracle it didn't shatter and watched the kid suffer. Knew that, whoever Dean needed in that moment, it wasn't him. That who he did need wasn't there, was a day or so away from being there. It caused all his bottled up emotions to superheat into anger, anger he directed at Sam Winchester. Sam who had left his _wounded_ brother alone, whose actions had placed Dean in Rufus' incapable hands.

Knowing that line of thought got him nowhere, Rufus turned back to the door, slid the curtain aside and saw a black classic car roaring up the driveway, coming to a sliding stop on the gravel. Even as he knew it was a day too early for the younger Winchester and Singer to be back, Sam Winchester fluidly climbed out of the car and bound up the stairs to the front door almost faster than Rufus could register. He barely stepped back in time to avoid getting hit by the swinging door.

Then Sam Winchester swept into the house like a poltergeist.

The kid's eyes hardened as they bore into him. But it was fleeting, the attention Sam gave him. Instantly he was forgotten as Sam's eyes flew across the house, instinctively came to rest on the figure sprawled out on the couch. And what Rufus saw flickering across Sam's features, passing through his eyes, he didn't have words for that. No longer had the capacity to catalogue or to feel things that ran that deep. He had cut that part of himself out years ago. Well, he thought he had, until he watched Sam quickly cross the room, come to a silent crouch by Dean's side and simply revel in the sight of his brother, alive and mostly in one piece.

"Good to see you too," Rufus grumbled quietly, never intending for the words to be heard just had to say something, do something to keep his barriers erect, to remind himself that he was an outsider looking in, to convince himself that he wanted to keep it that way.

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Crouching by Dean's side, Sam felt his own anxious breath plateau and unconsciously slip into synch with the reassuring rise and fall of his brother's chest. Though he noted the shadows under Dean's eyes, the freckles that stood out on his brother's pale features, was surprised by the beard, there was no evidence to support that Dean was immersed in anything more worrisome than simple, natural sleep.

Dean was alright, had been just fine without him. He even seemed only too happy to relinquish his grip on his little brother.

'_It's me who wasn't fine being apart from him,_' Sam acknowledged, couldn't deny the tinge of heartbreak that the need didn't flow both ways between them. After all they had been through, what Sam wanted most was to be irrevocably tethered to his brother. To know that, no matter what came next, he could be certain of one thing: that his brother still wanted him at his side.

Suddenly, he understood why the other part of him, the part without a soul, had not been able to stay away from Dean. That once he had slipped into Dean's life, he refused to be pushed out, no matter what harm Dean threatened to unleash on him. Stayed because, even that twisted, dark part of him knew that he was missing something. And it wasn't just his soul. Was missing something he couldn't function without, that he needed, wanted, the part of him that was Dean's little brother. The some part of him that flourished in him now, that had fiercely ached in Stanford, had told the devil to go to hell and graciously showed him the way. The part of him that, a few days ago, had felt the wrongness of what he was doing even before he lost sight of Dean in the Impala's rearview mirror.

With equal measures of relief and regret, Sam noted that Dean was rousing under his silent inspection. His brother's instincts, though dulled by sleep, were never truly turned off. Not moving, forcing himself to refrain from making any physical contact with Dean, he crouched there, watched his brother's eyes begin to flutter open and heard Dean's breathing quicken. Then green eyes more familiar than his own settled on him.

"Sam?" Dean quested, confusion and vulnerability in the tentative, hoarse call of his brother's name.

Reacting to Dean's vulnerability, Sam smiled gently down at his prone brother. "For once you're exactly where I told you to be."

Blinking a few times, finding that Sam didn't go away, wasn't another element of the dreams that had latched onto him, he began to sit up, instantly found two large, familiar hands coming to his aid, slipping behind his back and grasping his arm to pull him upright. Eyes averted from Sam, he asked offhandedly, "What time is it?" because he knew that asking his real question of 'what _day_ was it?' would totally freak his little brother out.

"About five," Sam replied, pulling his hands free of Dean now that his brother was sitting upright on the couch. But he remained in his crouched position inches from his brother's knees, kept his eyes trained on his brother's face.

Sam's answer being next to useless to him, Dean was trying to make an educated guess of five in the morning versus five in the afternoon when his brother took pity on him.

"In the morning," Sam supplied, trepidation beginning to gather in his gut as he easily detected the lingering confusion in his brother's eyes. "We finished up the job early," he explained as if that strange phenomena was none of his doing.

Suddenly a new voice entered the conversation. "Made an eight hour drive in six," Bobby pointed out.

His head snapping up to Bobby, Dean hated that he hadn't detected the older hunter's entrance into the house or approach.

"We couldna made better time unless I had a rocket strapped on my back," Bobby sarcastically drawled, unwilling to let Sam play coy. Not after he had watched the kid almost make himself sick worrying about his brother.

Downplaying his urgency to reach Dean's side, Sam nearly shrugged, lazily pointed out. "I just knew some short cuts."

"Yeah, sure," Bobby all but snorted before he turned around and headed back to his kitchen, to Rufus who, during his hurried entrance, he had only spared a look of surprise that quickly morphed into a promise of future retribution. Now he brutishly addressed his friend, "Help me bring in my gear."

"Do I look like your whipping boy?" Rufus growled but as Bobby came toe to toe with him, when he read the down right fury in his long time friend's eyes, he cursed and slammed his way out of the house.

Sneaking a glance into his living room, Bobby saw that Sam and Dean were silently contemplating each other, had again narrowed the world down to just the two of them. As much as he loved those two boys, he knew his place wasn't there, wasn't with them, wasn't ever to be between them. With a satisfied smile, he followed Rufus out the door, hoped Rufus didn't mind digging his own grave 'cause he was dog tired and if he had to do it himself, he would make Rufus pay even more dearly for that.

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When Sam tilted his head, gave him an inquisitive look, Dean defensively retorted, "What?"

"Nothing, just never seen you sporting a beard before," Sam lightly admitted, let the question hang in his words.

Kicking himself for not immediately taking Rufus' advice and shaving the beard off, Dean stalled the confrontation to come with a bittersweet smile. "Too much like Dad?"

"No, no. Just…" Sam hesitated a second before he confessed with a vulnerable smile, "..not much like you." And though they had only been parted for a few days, it seemed like so much had changed between them, that Dean had gotten busy changing without him, was breaking away from him.

Suddenly Sam's anger seemed a welcome thing compared to the flash of pain Dean saw in his brother's eyes. Dean didn't know if Sam was lying, whether his beard made him look way too much like their father for Sam's peace of mind or if something else was troubling Sam. But what he did know was his brother had felt enough pain. He wouldn't be the cause of more. "Sam, there's something …"

The sound of raised voices coming from outside had Dean slipping into silence and his head snapping toward the door. It made him wonder if he needed to intervene before Bobby buried Rufus in the salvage yard. "Maybe I should…" he started but without warning, Sam's fingers hooked almost painfully under his jawline, freezing his head's range of motion.

Sam might have missed it. Would have if his brother hadn't been his entire focus. If he had shifted his attention from his brother, cared if Bobby _was_ burying Rufus somewhere on the property. If Dean hadn't gotten distracted, didn't turn his head and unwittingly give him an unobstructed view of his right cheek.

Leaning in closer to the face he had captured in his hand, suddenly all the pieces came together at once for Sam: Dean not immediately rallying from sleep when he crouched by him, the dullness in Dean's eyes that Dean had thought to hide behind his smirks.

And then there was the friggin' beard.

They were all signs he nearly missed. There was the deflections his brother had instigated and the deception that was literally written all over Dean's face, jaw line to be exact.

Stitches. Camouflaged in his brother's beard were a line of stitches. Stitches he hadn't put in, stitches his brother hadn't _needed_ a few days ago when he left Dean alone to _heal up_.

Though Dean suspected the gig was up, that Sam wasn't leaning closer because he wanted to cuddle, he refused to go down without a fight. "Personal Space Dude. You need to sign up for the teaching class that I'm giving Cas?" His fingers intent on dislodging his brother's firm, but carefully placed grip on his jaw.

Quickly releasing Dean's jaw of his own volition, Sam grabbed the bottom of Dean's shirt, started to lift it, needed to see the wound on his brother's side, to know how badly his brother had screwed himself up.

Switching priorities, Dean caught Sam's hand, forestalled his brother's inspection. "Sam, I was going to tell you," Dean solemnly insisted but the storm in Sam's eyes didn't dissipate, seemed instead to gather in intensity.

"Tell me what? That you lied to me?" Sam shouted, yanking his hand out of Dean's hold and coming to his feet. "I asked if you went hunting with Rufus and you lied to me, Dean!"

"I didn't lie…" Dean teasingly backpedaled, but as Sam's jaw jumped with fury, he held up his hand, "Ok, alright. I didn't tell you the truth."

"Yeah, that's called lying, Dean! You hunted with Rufus. You got _hurt_!" Sam spat, accusation and frustration and worry tangling together in him.

"What? This," Dean ran his hand over his beard where the stitches were, "is nothing, Sammy."

Sam put his hands on his hips and towered menacingly over his seated brother. "Nothing? Alright. Then show me your side."

"What is this, show and tell?" Dean deflected.

"Dean…" Sam drawled in warning.

Dean's own jaw worked into a clench a moment before his anger at Sam fled like it always did. "I wasn't like I meant to lie to you…." Dean began to explain.

"So how was it, then?" Sam tersely challenged, trying hard to lessen the anger in his tone.

"I was going to tell you when you got here," Dean insisted. "Course that was supposed to be two days from now," a tinge of blame leaking from his tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry I busted my butt getting here because I was worried about you," Sam scathingly flung back.

Dean sighed. Things were going from bad to worse. "I didn't mean it like that."

"So lying to me this whole time, I'm supposed to be alright with that? Supposed to be …what? Grateful that you were going to tell me the truth now when you can't hide your new injuries from me anymore?" Sam demanded, not sure if he was more angry or hurt that Dean hadn't been honest with him, had tried to keep him in the dark.

Hating to be on an uneven playing field, especially in an argument, Dean made to stand up, to face off with Sam toe to toe but he never made it off the couch. Instead Sam dropped his hand on his shoulder and leaned over him, pinned him where he sat. But the eyes he defiantly met, they had lost their anger, had turned compassionate from one breath to the next.

"Dean, just…" Sam faltered, didn't know what he wanted from his brother, only knew he didn't want Dean hurting himself further. He was surprised when Dean's eyes conveyed, not retaliation at his manhandling, but apprehension. Like Dean didn't know where things went from there anymore then he did but was worried the worst would happen.

Not willing for this to turn into some wedge between them, Sam gave Dean a small apologetic smile and dropped down onto the couch by his brother's side. "You're an idiot, you know that right?" he grumbled but there was no masking the warmth in his tone or the affection in the look he bestowed on his brother.

Able to draw in a breath, certain that Sam wouldn't be hitting the door if he said the wrong thing, Dean evenly explained, "Sam you were so pissed I drove somewhere, I knew you'ld have a coronary if you knew I helped Rufus with his hunt."

Turning in the couch to face Dean, Sam replied, "Yeah, yeah I would have. And for good reason. You tore out your stitches in your side, didn't you?"

Plunging ahead with the truth, Dean cockily smiled, "Every last one of them."

Sam's whole body tightened with worry at his brother's declaration. "Let me see…" he ordered, reaching again for his brother's shirt only to be waylaid again by Dean's grip.

"Rufus patched me up already," Dean assured but he could tell by the stubborn set to his brother's features that Sam wasn't going to be happy until he had his way. "What? You don't trust Rufus now?"

"The only one I trust to patch you up is me," Sam shot back candidly. "Besides, excuse me if I'm not feeling the love for a guy who made you hunt with him when you were hurt!"

"He didn't know, Sam."

"Well you should have told him."

"Excuse me for not feeling like caring and sharing with Rufus!" Dean shouted back, wasn't going to allow Sam to push him any further. Not about this, about opening up, exposing his vulnerability to someone not Sam, not even Bobby.

Sam fought it, the smile, but couldn't keep it in at the thought of grumpy old Rufus and Dean having a chick flick moment. He chuckled under Dean's deadly laser glare.

"Laugh it up fuzzball," Dean shot back, putting his hand on his brother's smirking face and giving it a playful push back.

"Quoting Star Wars. You can't be on your deathbed," Sam teased, as he settled back into the corner of the couch to watch his brother.

"I'm not," Dean indignantly shot back, couldn't believe Sam thought a little thing like some tore stitches was going to do him in.

"That's not your fault," Sam petulantly grumbled, dropping his eyes from Dean, didn't want to hang onto his anger but, dang it, Dean had been so _stupid_. And if Dean thought he should just get over it, not be angry, that he shouldn't have been worried, shouldn't still be worried…well Dean had another thing coming.

Though his own temper was dry kindling waiting for a spark most days, Dean just hated it when Sam was pissed at him, especially these days, when everything that had broken in them in the past few years seemed to have been mended. He would not risk fracturing them apart again, not for his pride. Exhaling an exasperated sigh, he growled, "Alright," and lifted his shirt up to show his brother the bandage that thankfully wasn't spotted with blood.

At the peace offering, Sam instantly sat up, began to reach out to inspect his brother's new damage for himself.

"Now stop pouting," Dean ordered, retreating back from Sam's reaching hands and dropping his shirt.

But Sam's quick hands held the shirt up, were peeling back the bandage on Dean's side before Dean could offer up a protest. Not bothering to direct his attention where Sam's laid, Dean instead chose to read his brother's facial ticks. When his brother cringed, he knew it was out of sympathetic pain for him. The crease in Sam's forehead? That was all about Sam being a nervous nelly whenever he got hurt. To his brother's credit, Dean barely felt the light touch of his brother's fingers as they traced Rufus' stitchwork.

"There's some heat coming from it," Sam worriedly stated, his eyes flying up to Dean's, seeking his brother's corroboration like he would on any hunt. But at the set line of Dean's lips, he knew there wasn't going to be any help coming from that corner. Forced to rely on his own intuitiveness, he reached up, cupped his brother's neck and could easy detect the heat coming off his brother's undamaged skin. "Are you taking…"

In answer to Sam's question, Dean jerked his head to the small table beside the couch where the antibiotic pills sat beside a glass of water. Sam didn't need to know he had skipped a few doses. But the look Sam threw his way told him that his little brother already guessed at that.

Coming off the couch, Sam crossed to the table, picked up water glass and pills and held both out to his brother with a look that incorporated a spectrum of earnestness, pleading, and defiance. Sam was bracing himself for the confrontation, the denials, the 'I'm Dean Winchester and even germs run from me' bravado.

And Dean was about to oblige Sam with just that type of reaction, until he looked up, came face to face with Sam, a worried, affectionate, protective, kind Sam. Whose eyes…they weren't anything like the dispassionate eyes that had tracked him as he nervously paced in that hotel room after the fairies had thought he would make a great date for some pervy fairy king. Were nothing like the eyes that had watched him come apart in another hotel room as the sound of heartbeats pounded in his ears and his thirst for blood grew.

No, the eyes that held his now weren't judging him, weren't evaluating him for areas of weakness, weren't disgusted by what they found in their line of sight. Instead, they were offering him compassion, were sparking with honest to goodness concern, were telling him, in no uncertain terms, that their owner cared about him, was about two seconds away from freaking out if he didn't get some sound to come out of his mouth and give him some type of proof that he was alright.

"Thanks, Sammy," he said with warm gratitude, hand outstretched for the pills and reaching for the water glass while his eyes held his brother's. He didn't want to look away, not until he saw what he needed to. And then it was there, relief, a notching down of fear and that suspiciously narrowing of his brother's eyes.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Sam deposited two pills in Dean's palm and handed off the water, watched Dean dutifully take the medication. But he knew that his brother's capitulation, it meant Dean was up to something. Absently taking the glass from his brother's grip, he studied Dean, waited for the smirk, that mischievous sparkle in his brother's eyes, some tell that told him what game his brother was playing now.

"What?" Dean innocently asked, secretly enjoyed the suspiciousness his submission to his brother's mothering had evoked.

Sam looked down at Dean, shifted on his feet, tried to see through Dean's act. But couldn't. "Dean, you have never given in so easily."

"What, a guy can't change?" Dean lightly countered.

"A guy, yeah. _You?_!" Sam incredulously taunted, smirking.

"Shudup," Dean retorted with a chuckle, didn't tell Sam that, for him, he would be willing to do a lot more than complacently down some medication. Might even just take a message next time someone called looking for help that Sam wouldn't approve of him giving. Maybe. Possibly. Could happen.

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Determined that Singer could get his own crap out of Winchester's car, Rufus stalked purposefully by the Chevy Impala, went instead to the Monte Carlo and reached for a bottle of his Johnnie Walker Blue. Knew he'd need it's fortifications before he and Bobby got into things. He usually treated his Blue with more respect, put her in a nice glass, savored her before he slowly swallowed down her velvety smooth texture. But a war was brewing and such niceties had to go by the wayside. So upending the bottle to his lips, he gulped a few mouthfuls down before he recapped her, sat her precariously on the trunk of the car and turned to face Bobby Singer's wrath.

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TBC

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Well that's where we're breaking for the night…more to follow soon!

Thanks for reading and for those wonderfully kind reviews you've been blessing me with.

And sorry if anyone tried to PM and couldn't. Dang Ffnet turned off the feature all on its own. And I've run into a lot of people's PM being disabled.

So here's my public service message for the day: All readers, it might not be a bad idea to go make sure Private Messages are enabled under your account setting. Be aware that if it is disabled, you won't be able to even receive replies to reviews you've left. And double check that your email notification are still set to the way you want them….mine switched some time to all "no"s!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7: The Blame Game

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

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Chapter 7: The Blame Game

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Except Singer didn't lay into Rufus, stood there staring at him, measuring him.

Uncomfortable with the lack of action, Rufus huffed "What?"

"Thought you'd turn tail and light out of here two seconds after you got Dean in the yard," Bobby gruffly said, not giving Rufus the satisfaction of phrasing it as a question.

Not ready to admit, especially to an unpredictable, tetchy Bobby, that he had stayed out of some unexpected need to protect Dean, Rufus cantankerous bit out, "You're the one that ordered me to bring Dean here, Singer. Now you're gonna bellyache cause I stayed with the kid?"

Stepping closer to Rufus, Bobby shot back, voice rising, "What's got in my craw is _why_ you stayed," sounding all the world like he was angry at the other man's consideration for Dean.

That was the very question Rufus hoped Singer didn't ask, had hoped to avoid altogether. Last thing he wanted to do was confess to being worried about the kid, sure as heck didn't want to be the one to tell Singer Dean had gone and gotten injured on his watch. Dean, the kid Singer valued as fiercely as he would if the kid was his own flesh and blood.

But Rufus' reluctance to give him an answer told Bobby everything that his old friend refused to. Heart tripping over itself, he darn near breathlessly demanded, "He doing that bad?" His fertile mind conjuring up a thousand complications Dean's wounds could have encountered, was already replaying how Dean looked, knew the kid looked wiped out but that was expected. But other things were starting to become obvious: the fact that he had startled Dean, that Dean didn't make any smart mouthed reply, had not said one word to him in fact. But more telling than anything was not Dean's actions, but Sam's. Sam who had taken up residence mere inches from his brother, Sam who had not spared a glance away from his brother even when Bobby dared to enter the brotherly fray, Sam who had looked _vulnerable_, so unlike the deadly hunter that had dispatched the ghost hours before with such cold efficiency.

He didn't even know he was moving, had turned for the door. Just knew he wanted to go demand a meticulous run down from Dean on his physical wellbeing. He wasn't expecting Rufus Turner to suddenly stand in his way, reach his arms out as if he would block any attempts he made to pass.

It made Bobby see red. Getting into Turner's face, he shouted, "Out with it! What did you let him do? He drive home?" he growled, his hands fisted, seconds away from punching Rufus.

Indignantly, Rufus shouted back, "No, he didn't drive back here!" And he couldn't help but think how Dean had slept nearly the whole drive, to remember that he had _almost_ let Dean drive himself home. He probably would have if Singer hadn't gone all papa bear on him. '_And because of that, Bobby probably saved Dean's life.'_

Using his fist, not to strike a blow but to latch onto Rufus' shirt and give the man a rough shake, Bobby snarled, "I am in no mood for your crap, Rufus! I've been driving hours with an anxious, itchy Winchester and if Dean's got even a new scratch on 'em, it ain't going to go over well with Sam. So you start talking or I swear, I'll go get my shotgun and it won't be loaded with rocksalt."

Smart enough to take Singer at his word, to know that a fair number of things were dead because of Singer and they had done a heck of a lot less than let someone Bobby loved get hurt, Rufus decided to cut his losses, to pray that the truth would mean something to his long time friend. Didn't mean he was about to grovel for leniency, though. "Let me point something out to you because apparently you ain't heard it the hundred times I've said it before. The kid never mentioned being hurt, looked healthier than you do on any given day and I didn't rope him into helping me, he offered. All on his own."

Bobby stilled at Rufus' words, was quick enough to catch the important, new tidbit Rufus had been too chicken to mention before. "Help?" A dangerous edge carried in the one word. "You mean besides getting your incarcerated butt out of jail?"

Meeting Bobby's stony expression head on, Rufus exhaled, knew that if there was a true breaking point to the reforged friendship between him and Singer, this would be it. "On the hunt. He helped me on the hunt." And then he waited for the fallout.

He had witnessed Bobby's fury before, but it didn't come close to matching what blazed in Singer's eyes right now. He was yanked closer to Singer, felt Singer's breath plummet his face as his friend shouted, "Hunting! You let him hunt! You think we woulda let him here if he was up to a hunt?"

Knowing that, trying to defend himself on that score was a dead end street, Rufus changed gears, went on the defensive like any hunter that wished to survive learned to do. Knocking the other man's hold on him free, he stepped back out of Bobby's radius. "Yeah, and you and _his brother_ left him here alone with a side tore into, practically down to the bone, to _go_ on a hunt!" surprising himself with the anger that surfaced at that revelation, that Dean would have been on his own all this time, with no one to watch his back.

Bobby's rebuttal was instantaneous, inadvertently rode right over another quieter voice that was entreating, "Guys don't do this."

"Yeah, we left him behind to heal up! Not go traipsing all over God's country saving your worthless hide. If that boy is seriously hurt, I'll…."

But Rufus closed in the space between him and Singer, stood toe to toe with his former friend and snarled, "You'll what? I'll have you dead to rights before you can even find your rusty old shotgun."

"Stop this!" but that third party appeal also went unheeded, unheard.

Bobby's level tone was more deadly than a growl. "You best start walking to the road, else I'll be picking up pieces of you in my driveway for a month."

But it was that other voice that filled the air, demanded their attention, finally broke through their haze of anger. "I said shut up! Both of you!"

Heads snapping to the porch, Bobby and Rufus settled startled eyes on Dean. Dean who was no longer tucked away on the couch, who was standing there on the porch, swaying ever so slightly, as if his shout stole the last of his strength with it. And hovering worriedly at his side, was Sam, his hands ready to catch his brother any second.

When Dean stepped down the stairs, grimaced in pain, braced his wounded side with his arm and didn't protest Sam claiming a purchase on him, _helping_ him down the stairs, it was an ominous enough sign to not only renew but intensify Bobby's fear for the eldest Winchester. Stepping forward, ready to lay hands on Dean and turn him back around, Bobby began, his voice gentler than Rufus had ever heard from his friend before, "Dean, you should be laying down…"

"I might be if I didn't hear you two going at it out here," Dean irritably replied, including Rufus in his reprimand.

The two older men had the good grace to look ashamed.

And so did Sam. Because, this, he remembered. Dean being the referee, Dean being the peacemaker, Dean determined to stop his loved ones from hurting each other…even if it meant they turned on, chose to starting hurting him instead. '_How many fights did Dean break up between me and Dad? How many times did he decide it was better he got hurt than someone else?' _The answer to both was as painful as it was undeniable_. 'Too many times."_

But Sam knew that he would have as much luck forcing Dean to walk away now as he did stopping his brother from stubbornly coming outside and getting right between the dustup between the old hunters. Suddenly, Sam had a new concern, not that Bobby and Rufus would tear into each other, but that they would tear into Dean, that Dean would sacrifice himself to get a peaceful outcome. But he wasn't going to let that happen, not ever again.

Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Dean faced Bobby, met the older hunter's concerned but angry gaze. "Rufus called. He needed help. So I helped. Same think I'ld do if it were anyone else needing help," he unwaveringly stated, his tone daring Bobby to challenge his right to do what he did.

Bobby's immediate rebuttal wasn't in condemnation of Dean's action, but of Rufus's. "'Cept it didn't end that easy, did it? He dragged you on his hunt," he accusatively growled, leveling a malicious glower in Rufus' direction.

"I didn't drag him…" Rufus vivaciously began to deny.

"When have I ever not been in the mood to kill something?" Dean roguishly interjected, donning a cocky smile to complete his act of bravado.

It was Sam who gave a soft, petulant dispute to his brother's words. "It was stupid going when you were hurt and you know it." His eyes conveying something greater than anger as they clashed with Dean's, fear.

"Ah, Sammy, you say the nicest things," Dean drawled, holding his smile with pure determination.

"Dean," the name emanating from Sam as a distressed sigh, frustrated that Dean couldn't just see where he was coming from, how he felt.

"It was my decision. Mine, Sam," Dean boldly admitted, had to get Sam to see that, given the choice again, he wouldn't do anything different. That Sam couldn't _expect_ him to do anything different. And neither could Bobby. Turning to the man he loved like a father, he stated without repentance, "And it wasn't Rufus' decision, either. So you wanna be pissed at someone, I'm your guy."

At Dean's defiant words, Rufus' head snapped to the younger man in stunned shock. Yeah, sure, he never thought the kid would throw him under the bus, but for Dean to throw himself under instead? To offer him such loyalty, to stand between Singer's wrath and his brother's, to protect him? That he didn't see coming. Not at all.

Knowing that Dean expected him to back down, to crumple under his ultimatum, that the kid was gonna stand there and protect Rufus of all people, it only made Bobby madder. Coming right into Dean's face, he boomed, "Fine, then I'm pissed at you! You think Sam and I left you home 'cause we thought three was a crowd! Dean, you just about got gutted. Believe it or not, that kinda damage, it don't heal overnight. Ain't gonna heal at all if you don't have the lick of sense to admit when you're not up to taking on a job!"

Stung by the cutting remark from the only father figure in his life, Dean dropped his eyes, skittered away from Bobby's molten gaze. Insinuations that he was weak, they were nothing new. He had grown up with those raining down on his head from his Father, had convinced himself that it was because he needed more training, wasn't fighting hard enough. But to have Bobby believe that…it hurt worse because it was so unexpected.

Watching the strong kid's shoulders slump dejectedly, Rufus felt his chest tighten, knew that, however Dean was taking Singer's words, it wasn't the way Bobby had intended them. But that didn't derail him from stepping between Dean and Singer, standing toe to toe with his old friend and growling, "Back off, Singer. You're the one that didn't let a little thing like being paralyzed stop you from tangling with anything that was stupid enough to come within a hundred miles of here."

At that, Dean's head came up and he shared a surprised look with his brother. This was news to them.

"This ain't about me," Bobby objected, didn't want Rufus mudding the waters on what he could do and what he would allow two boys he loved to do.

"Well you can stop making it about me, cause I'm not dying. I'm fine!" Dean shouted, angry that he was again the cause of a rift between two people he cared about, that no matter what he did, he always ended up hurting someone, ticking off someone else. Like his Dad and Sam, Jo and Ellen and now Bobby and Rufus. And as hard as he tried, he was never the person who put them to rights again, healed what he had broken. Had no hope that he would be this time either but he wouldn't hang around and watch it all fall apart. With the animosity between Bobby and Rufus still tangible, he shook his head, dejectedly rasped, "So you two want to hold some kind of grudge against each other, fine, go to it, just leave me out of it."

Turning back to the house, Dean didn't see the remorseful glances Bobby and Rufus shared, didn't see the aching way his brother watched him walk away. But he felt ripped apart, like he had failed, failed at something that was more personal that saving the world from ending. Failed at being a friend, at being a son, at being a brother. Found that he couldn't live with that. Stopping, he slowly spun around, faced his brother and surrogate father and implored, "What was I supposed to do? Just sit on my hands when Rufus needed help!"

"Yes," Came simultaneously from Sam and Bobby.

"Thanks. I feel so loved and appreciated," Rufus grumbled, shifting on his feet, uncertain if he should make a break now or wait until the smoke cleared from the battle ahead.

Dean gave a derogator snort at Sam and Bobby's confident resolution. "Yeah, cause that's what I'ld do if were one of you needing my help?" When silence was the only response he got back from his audience, he waved his hand in disgust and resumed his trek toward the door.

Rufus wanted to call out, stop the kid from leaving, from thinking he wasn't grateful. But he was still reeling at the notion that Dean thought helping him was nearly as important as helping Singer, as helping his own brother.

For a second Sam stood there, finally understood what he had been asking of his brother. That, for Dean, he was asking the impossible, was asking Dean to not be _Dean_. Dean who never, ever turned his back on his family or on the people he cared about. And somewhere along the line, Rufus had managed to become that, someone Dean valued, someone Dean didn't want to lose.

When Sam's eyes met his, Bobby knew the younger man was having the same revelation that he was. That Dean would do it all over again, would always follow his heart, regardless of where it led him. And if he and Sam loved Dean, they would just have to accept that.

Though he knew Sam didn't need any encouragement to go to his brother, Bobby still jerked his head toward Dean's departing figure, gave Sam's blessing to leave, wanted Sam to trust him to honor Dean's decision.

Giving a small smile, Sam gave a curt nod before he bound to his brother's side in time to slip an arm around Dean's waist and help him navigate up the steps. For a moment, Bobby watched his boys, waited until they were safely ensconced in the house. Drawing in a full unfettered breath, he turned to face his friend.

But Rufus spoke before he could, used a gentle tone Bobby hadn't heard from his old friend in a long time, back before Omaha. "I know what the kid means to you, Bobby. If I would have known he was hurt…." Self disgust, regret, and apology all shone through the hunter's lowered defenses.

"I know," Bobby acknowledged with a sigh, granting his friend's request for forgiveness. Running his hand over his mouth, he admitted, "Half the time the idjit doesn't tell _me_ when he's hurt."

And both hunters knew who had raised Dean to suffer in silence, to put a hunt before his own well-being.

"He saved my life, you know," Rufus proudly announced, wanted Bobby to know the kind of hunter Dean Winchester was, even when the younger man wasn't running on all cylinders.

By the cock of Bobby's eyebrow, and his droll "You expected anything less?" retort, Singer already knew that about the kid he was so fond of.

Allowing a slow smile to emerge, Rufus chuckled, "Not really. Makes it pretty hard to stay mad at him."

In disgruntle agreement, Bobby bit out, "Yeah, don't I know it." But he couldn't hold onto his anger any longer, was soon smirking, had Rufus joining him. Taking off his cap, he ran his hand through his hair, confided, "Half the time I wish their daddy was here and the other times…" Here he paused, did a hit and run look with Rufus. Not detecting any judgment from his friend, he confessed, "God help me, I'm glad he's not." Was so thankful he was the one the boys came to, that he had them in his life. They had saved him from eating a bullet, long before he even ended up being paralyzed.

"The kind of men those two are," Rufus nodded toward the house, "some of it is because of you."

Dropping the last of his pretenses, Bobby wearily leaned back against the Impala. "Rufus, I spend most days just praying they aren't off dying someplace," he declared with raw candor.

To which Rufus simply shrugged, bestowed a toothy smile on Singer. "Nothing more than I put my own father through."

Bobby snorted, "Why do I not doubt that," but inside, he was reveling at his friend's comparison. Silently, he accepted that, even John Winchester himself couldn't worry more about those two kids than he did. Or be more proud of them.

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Shooting a furtive glance to Sam across the table, Dean cautiously observed, "You're quiet."

When that only brought Sam's head up but didn't prompt the younger man to reply, Dean asked, voice half way between anger and vulnerable entreaty, "Sam, what did you want me to do? Let Rufus sit in jail until they ran his prints. Make him try and finish a two man hunt on his own?"

"No…yes," Sam's answer flip flopping from moment to moment. At Dean's exasperated look, Sam smirked, quietly began, "I just wish…" But meeting Dean's earnest expression, Sam knew he could no longer ask the impossible, had to ask only what Dean was capable of giving. So he conceded, "At least if you would have called Bobby and me, we could have backed you and Rufus up." _'I might have been able to make sure you didn't get hurt. Again.'_

"Rufus had my back," Dean assured without hesitation, his trust in the older man shining through.

Trust Sam didn't want to tarnish. "Yeah I know but.." '_He's not me. It's __my__ job, __my__ privilege to protect you._' Aloud he pointed out, "Rufus didn't know you were hurt, that you couldn't handle yourself that well on the hunt."

That statement prompted a brash smile from his brother.

"Monster zero. Winchester one. I think I did ok," Dean boasted.

Sam shook his head at his brother's bravado. "Right," he drawled out, a light laugh in his tone. "And Rufus had to redo all your stitches and put in some brand new ones here," lightly he tapped his brother's bearded jaw inches from his newest wound.

"The old ones were getting ratty looking," Dean shrugged, gave an eye roll at Sam's steely eyed response to his offhandedness. "Come on, Sam. Danger comes with the lifestyle."

"So you really don't think I should have a problem with you going behind my back and hunting while you were hurt. What if I did that Dean?" Sam demanded, anger again tainting the air between them.

But Dean didn't return anger for anger, instead gave one of his goofy grins. "We both know that you're too sensible to do that, Sam." Still pinned under his brother's penetrating glare and clenched jaw, Dean conceded, "Ok, so if you did that I would be …"

"The word you're looking for is pissed, Dean. You would be pissed," Sam cut in.

"Well then it's a good thing you're not me," Dean joked, saw that went over with his brother like a lead balloon. Fast running out of deflections, he resorted to rule number one: don't question big brother's decisions. His voice hard and unwavering, he stated, "Regardless of what you think, Sam, I did what was right."

At Dean's declaration, Sam felt his anger soften to tender admiration. "Dean, I'm not saying what you did for Rufus was wrong just…how about putting yourself at risk moves down your 'to do' list to say, number 5."

Surprised by Sam's conciliatory tone and words, it took Dean a moment to come up with an acceptable reply. "So number one's what? Playing lead guitarist for AC/DC?

Sam dropped his head at his brother's deflection, wished Dean would just….

"Ok," Dean acquiesced, determined to stop hurting Sam, to do something, willing to do anything to take away some of the haunted look in his brother's eyes.

Head snapping up, Sam met Dean's eyes, waited for his brother to say more.

It was like pulling teeth, Dean getting the words out. "Fine, I won't hunt hurt…" Before Sam could thank Dean, his brother quickly qualified, "unless it's with you."

At Dean's absurd hope that he would allow that, Sam irritably demanded, "Yeah and when was the last time I let you hunt hurt?"

"Ah..every hunt that's taken more than one round to kill the sucker," Dean lightly contradicted as if he were stating the obvious.

Sam immediately opened his mouth to refute Dean's delusions, only to find himself testing the validation of his brother's claim. He clamped his mouth shut at his findings. Dean's logic, it was sound. Truth was, one or both of them _were _usually the walking wounded after their first encounter with the supernatural. And they always went back for round two, wounded or not.

Dean's smug smile had Sam pointing a warning finger at his brother. "Don't think you're off the hook, Dean. When you and I hunt…."

"You're always there to hold my hand, Sammy. And that means a lot, it does," Dean teased.

"I should _break_ your hand," Sam laughed back, throwing a dirty glare at Dean that soon morphed into a smile that matched his brother's.

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It was 2pm in the afternoon when Rufus entered the living room to find the two Winchesters sacked out, their respective lost sleep catching up with them. Dean was on the couch and Sam, astonishingly, was sprawled out on the floor, inches from his brother, as if he wasn't willing to let his brother orbit out of his radius.

That unabashed, fierce show of loyalty, of devotion, left Rufus feeling off kilter, uncertain if he should interrupt Dean from his sleep to say goodbye, if he should dare to intrude on the scene before him. Then, as if sensing his presence, Dean's eyes opened, landed on him.

Smirking, Dean began to push himself upright on the couch, was careful to not bump his brother in the process. Rubbing his hand over his drawn face, he rolled his shoulders, grimaced and then settled his still sleep hazy attention on Rufus.

"You gonna call off your dog if he attacks?" Rufus quietly quirked, jerking his head down to Sam's inert form at Dean's feet.

Not opening his eyes or moving a muscle, Sam, none the less, drowsily warned, "I _ate_ my obedience school trainer."

Dean snorted but reassured Rufus, "Don't worry, his bark is worse than his bite," as he got up from the couch. Bending down, he ruffled Sam's unruly mop of hair like he would a well loved dog.

"Get off," Sam muttered, paw waving Dean's hand away even as Dean was skirting around him and heading for the kitchen. But a second later, Sam's very lucid eyes slipped open, landed on Rufus, a warning glittering in their depths. He hoped Rufus was smart enough to know that Dean was wrong about his bark, and his bite. Especially when it came to people who had the power to hurt his brother.

Rufus gave Sam a curt nod, acknowledging that the silent but deadly threat had been understood and he had no intentions to bring the kid's wrath down on his head, ever again. Almost relieved to have an excuse to slink away from Sam's penetrating glare, Rufus headed to the kitchen, watched as Dean leaned against the kitchen countertop, pretend that it were a casual stance instead of support he required.

As much as he had been dreading this moment, Rufus found that words of gratitude to the younger man came easily from him. "I know you've been fishing for it all along, so here it is. Thank you. For bailing me out of jail, backing me up on the hunt and persuading Singer to not hog tie me to his Camaro," his sincerity clear as he extended his hand to the younger hunter. A hand that the younger man shook without a beat of hesitation. "I owe you one, kid. Whatever you need….no matter what shape I'm in, I'll deliver." '_I owe that to you kid, and much more_.'

Dean opened his mouth to reply but it was Bobby's gruff voice that answered, "Darn right you will." Closing the kitchen door behind him, Bobby continued to direct his barbs to Rufus, "If you're done going all gooey, can we go? I wanna dump you at your car and be back here…"

"In time to watch Tory and Dean," Turner provided, with a smug smile and a wink to Dean. Though, in all honesty, Rufus knew Bobby's urgency had more to do with getting back home to keep watch over the two exhausted Winchesters than catching some lame reality show. Mostly.

"I've been itching to try my new shotgun. You wanna be my first target?" Bobby threatened.

Turning around to fully face his antagonist, Turner volleyed back, "You pull a loaded gun on me and I'll make sure you eat it."

"You and what zombie army," Bobby tossed back even as the two men headed to the door, steps in synch with each other. "And someone wanna tell me why my door's busted?" he acidly demanded as he followed Rufus down the porch stairs.

Smiling at the two crusty hunters' antics, Dean left them to it and headed back into the living room. Stopping a few feet away from where his brother's long limbed body lay on the floor, he simply watched his brother sleep. It shouldn't have been such a touching sight, but it was, especially after months of rooming with soulless Sam and his insomnia. Suddenly, his skin itched just wondering how many times the other man had watched him sleep, contemplated, who knew what in his state of vulnerability, especially in those days when his guard was down, before he knew he wasn't with his Sam.

But the tousled haired Sam at his feet, he was all his little brother. And it felt wrong that Sam was the one on the floor. After all, he was the oldest. It was his job to do the protecting.

As if he could read Dean's very thoughts, Sam mumbled against his pillow, "Stop giving me that creepy Team Edward stare and go back to sleep."

Dean smiled, amused that Sam thought _he_ was the voyeur in their relationship. Apparently he didn't snap to do little brother's orders quickly enough, because the next second Sam reached out blindly until his hand connected with Dean's leg and gave his brother's calf a pat, "Dean, couch, now."

Instead of fighting against the command, Dean smiled, warmth spreading through him at the caring timbre of this Sam, his Sam. "'Kay Sam," he softly consented. Skirting around his brother, he sank back into the soft confines of the couch.

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Bobby was already climbing behind the wheel of his Camaro when he realized his traveling companion wasn't moving, was standing there in the car's open passenger doorway and looking back at his house. It didn't take much to figure out what was troubling his friend.

Meeting Rufus' look over the roof of his car, Bobby reassured, "They'll be fine, Rufus. Sam's tired but if Dean's breathing even changes, Sam'll know it. And like you found out, Dean may be down right now, but he's rarely ever out."

"Yeah," Rufus agreed, giving the house and men inside a final glance before he climbed into the car, watched as Bobby sank into the driver's seat and brought the classic car to life. But he couldn't help wonder if John Winchester really knew the kind of men he had for sons. Men that any father would be proud to claim as his own.

'_Course then there was the ulcers, grey hairs and sleepless nights those two give to anyone foolish enough to care about them_,' he scoffed, almost counting himself lucky to not be among that number…before he caught his reflection in the window, saw another grey hair poking out of his goatee and remembered he barely had a lick of sleep the past couple of nights, not since Dean Winchester had answered his call, had came to his rescue, had the gall to treat him like family.

Trading looks between the road and Rufus, Bobby couldn't quite interpret the stunned expression his friend was sporting. "What's got you looking so green? You getting an ulcer?"

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TBC - Sappy Epilogue with Sam and Dean to follow

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Thanks for reading and for all the supportive reviews!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	8. Chapter 8: Epilogue

Down But Not Out

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: - When Rufus unknowingly comes between an injured Dean and Sam and Bobby, he remembers what a pain and what a pleasure it is to be part of a family. Set after "Like a Virgin" No slash.

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Chapter 8: Epilogue

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Dean didn't remember much after hitting the couch at Sam's order, except the faint impression of hands, not trapping him but holding him, keeping him from slipping over the edge of some precipice. And he could have sworn he heard his brother murmuring quietly. Most of his brother's words were undistinguishable, but some broke through to him:

"It's just the fever, Dean. None of it is real."

"I'm here, Dean. You saved me."

"We're good. Nothing's gonna change that so don't you worry."

He remembered coolness on his forehead that dampened the raging heat consuming him from the inside out and a hand cupping his neck, feather light touch brushing his jaw, giving him something else to focus on than the heat, memoires of hell, of Sam being gone and Sam not being Sam.

His mind finally beginning to settle into the bliss of cool darkness, his fear melting away with his fever, he distinctly heard Sam but his brother sounded so young, vulnerable as he spoke. "You do look a little like Dad with the beard. I don't hate it…I just don't like it_. _You're you and that's all I need you to be. Crap, I hope you don't remember any of this when you wake up..."

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But Dean did remember, most of it anyways, and getting rid of his beard, it was priority one. Except his hands, they weren't cooperating, were still trembling. It made things like turning door knobs and holding scissors and disposable shavers awesome fun.

Cursing, he glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, drew in a calming breath and was going to attempt again to hack at his beard with the scissors. But then Sam blew through the bathroom door he couldn't shut and arrested his hand mid motion.

"Let me do that before you take a chunk out of your face," Sam said, instilling light frustration in his tone in the hopes that Dean would react better to help if it was offered in that vein. Of course, frustrated with his brother's distress was the last thing he was feeling.

He had been fretfully listening outside the bathroom door for a telling grunt of pain, of some indication that Dean got dizzy, might soon be hitting the floor. Instead he heard the rattling of a bag being overturned and its contents clanking against the porcelain vanity, followed by the sound of running water. Too curious, he leaned closer to the door, wished that Dean had left the door open far enough for him to get a peek inside.

It only took Dean's curse to prompt him into motion. Yanking the door open, he was startled to see Dean aiming a scissor, a shaking scissor, toward his face. After that, it was all brotherly instincts. Prying the weapon from his brother's hand shouldn't have been so easy, wouldn't have been if Dean wasn't still battling a fever, staving off infection and dealing with a wounded body. But that didn't mean his brother would concede the battle.

"You do remember I'm the one who taught _you_ how to shave," Dean scathingly drawled, hoping Sam didn't read the relief in his eyes for little brother's intervention.

"Well then you should trust me because I had an awesome teacher," Sam returned with a smile. Then he took in the small dimensions of the bathroom, especially with him and Dean taking up most of the space and decided, "Let's do this in the kitchen where I have some more room."

"Yeah, 'cause Bobby will _love_ us turning his kitchen into a barber shop," Dean sarcastically objected.

"Yeah, 'cause that's worse than when we turn it into an ER," Sam offhandedly replied even as he was gathering up the shaving supplies he would need and dumping them into a basin. Arms full, he gave his brother a mischievous smile, "'Sides, Bobby's not here to say we can't."

And that appealed to Dean.

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"Watch it," Dean grumbled, jerking his head back out of the scissor's range.

"Dean, I didn't even start yet," Sam laughed at his brother's rare nervousness. "Just don't move."

"Yeah, that's what I said to a few vamps…" Dean grumbled even as he let Sam tilt his head back.

"Maybe you wanna call Rufus, have him do this since you two bonded so well," Sam teased, was rewarded with a backhanded slap in his gut that had him grunting and flinching away and Dean smiling widely.

Then silence fell as Sam began to cut Dean's beard away. He was meticulously gentle around the row of stitches in his brother's jaw line. Inspected them with his fingers when he could see them clearly. "Looks like they can probably come out," he observed.

Giving his permission with a "Do it," Dean soon felt the gentle tug of the thread being removed. He jerked away when his brother ran his thumb lightly over the wound to check it for heat or puckers. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with Sam's touch…it had just been a long while since he could trust it, could unguardedly welcome it.

"Sorry," Sam immediately offered, ripping his hand away from Dean's wound and turning to the table where he had the basin filled with water, his face purposefully averted from Dean's inspection. '_I crossed the line. Dean's still not used to me being…me and I know that. I should have warned him I was going to inspect the wound_,' he chastised himself, his hand fisted with self disgust.

Dejectedly, Dean hung his head, could tell by Sam's tone, by his brother's hasty retreat from him, that his unintended reaction to Sam's touch had cut into his brother's kind heart. "Sam I didn't mean to…."

"I know," Sam forgave, his voice hoarse with all the emotions that lay between them. But he didn't turn around, leaned his palms instead against the table and tried to get himself together. "I should have…."

Knowing the apology to come, Dean refuted, "No, you shouldn't have," turning in his chair to face his brother. "I'm the one freaking out. It's my problem, Sam. Not yours."

Sam gave Dean a sorrowful smile, "Yeah, because this has nothing to do with me, right? That part of me let you get turned into a vampire, get kidnapped by some fairies and genuinely be a real bas…"

"It wasn't you!" Dean exclaimed, about to come to his feet when Sam instead knelt down to his level.

"My face, my hands, he had my memories….it was pretty close to being all me," Sam darkly said, hated that part of him had done such damage, maybe irreparable damage to his relationship with his brother.

"But not your heart, Sam. Not your kindness. He…he wasn't my brother," Dean announced with conviction, eyes holding Sam's pained gaze. "Because you….you're not like that. I knew almost from the start that something was off with him. Like it or not, I know you Sam. And he, he wasn't you." Seeing that his words were registering with Sam, that some of the anguish was alighting in his brother's features, he tacked on, "Course I think he had better hair. Probably bought the top of the line hair products so he could woo the hotties," his eyebrows giving a suggestive jump.

"You're a jerk," Sam laughed back. "You better be nice to me," he taunted, banishing the shaver in front of Dean's face.

"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots, Sammy," Dean sardonically said, waving his hands as if in fear.

"You should be. I screw this up and you're the one who won't be getting the hotties anymore," Sam joked back, stepping forward, shaving gel in hand. He expected more threats from Dean but instead his brother trustingly tilted his face up to him and the eyes that met his spoke of unshakeable affection.

"I trust you, Sam."

Giving a watery smile, Sam nodded and then set to the task of playing barber on his brother, a brother that remained rock steady, even when one of his strokes of the razor drew blood. "Crap, Sorry," Frantically, he wiped the blood away with his fingers. But Dean seemingly didn't notice. "Hey, you still in there?" he worriedly asked, hands stilling from their action.

Sam's question jarred Dean from his thoughts, had him absently replying, "Yeah."

Frowning at his brother's far away tone, Sam continued his work, made his strokes more careful, didn't want to draw blood a second time.

Figuring that it couldn't get more emo than sitting there letting his little brother shave him, Dean resolved that he might as well get all the girly stuff out of the way at one go. "I missed you."

At his brother's non sequitur, Sam stilled, studied his brother's profile and waited for the punch line…that didn't come. Instead Dean's eyes tracked to his, expectant. A tender small smile broke out across Sam's features and he earnestly admitted, "I missed you too." But the next second he turned their sentimental confession into a joke, "Which, by the way, is why Bobby thinks I'm downing estragon pills."

"No I didn't mean.." Dean began but his words caught in his throat at his brother's confused, hurt look. Quickly, he tried to make Sam understand. "I'm not talking about just the past couple of days."

Dean's eyes meaningfully met his little brother's. He needed Sam to get this, to understand that, he had been without him for a year and half. That it was finally feeling right, what was between them, finally feeling like it was them, together. Them in a way that soulless Sam never had been, not from the first moment he laid eyes on him, hugged him. Though that Sam that hugged him back, somehow he wasn't …his Sam. And he hadn't been able to explain it, not to Bobby, not even to himself, not even after he knew what was missing with the person at his side.

Not until Sam got his soul back, walked right up to him in the middle of Bobby's living room and hugged him. Hard. Like Sam hadn't been breathing until then. Until Sam knew he was alive, until they were together again. Were brothers again.

The breath Sam drew in now was ragged. It was taking everything he had not to break down, to not engulf Dean in a big bear hug, shaving gel and egos be darned. Because Dean had missed him. All along. Yeah, he knew in his heart that Dean had missed him that first year, ached like acid was tearing through his soul, just like he had when Dean was in Hell. But that Dean missed him even when he had had him, at least a part of him? That was what Sam hadn't dared to ask Dean. Had caught himself wondering if Dean sometimes missed that unemotional, logical Sam, just a little bit. A Sam that wouldn't lecture him about putting himself in danger, a Sam that would give him space if he asked for it and without a guilt trip, a Sam that was a far better hunter than he was, would probably ever be.

"So, Sam version 2.0 didn't have his good points?" Sam prodded like it was a joke but the question came out hoarse, his emotions hemorrhaging through like blood.

Aware that he was treading on precarious ground, Dean evenly answered, "Course he did," watched as hurt flickered over his brother's features and Sam bowed his head. Reaching out he cupped the side of Sam's neck, causing his brother to slowly raise his head. "The parts of you that he couldn't bury. But I prefer the real thing…" reading the joy in Sam's eyes, he teased, "even if you suck at shaving, lecture me like I'm friggin' four and get that look like you're about to do something stupid like hug me."

At Dean's spot-on mind reading abilities, Sam, with watery eyes and a goofy smile, didn't hug his brother but instead playfully smeared shaving gel across Dean's mouth.

"Dude!" Dean sputtered, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That's what happens when you pick on your barber. I'll happily let you rock a hillbilly goatee. Good news is, if I go get you one of Bobby's hats…you two will almost be twins."

"Ya done?" Dean grumbled, his eyes showcasing a mirth his words did not.

"Yeah, yeah, I think I am…" Sam smugly replied, getting up and heading toward the door.

"Wait, Sam. Where are you going? Sam!" Dean angrily called as Sam opened the screen door.

Without turning to face his brother, Sam smiled smugly, knew he had Dean right where he wanted him. "Two weeks at Bobby's," he negotiated.

"One," Dean briskly countered but when Sam opened the door, made to walk out on him, he bid, "Ten days."

Wiping away his gloating smile with effort, Sam faced his brother, "Four of which you don't leave the property."

"What am I, a dog now? Rumsfield had more leash than that!" Dean railed back.

"Yeah, but, unlike you, he listened to verbal commands," Sam teasingly retorted.

"Oh, funny," Dean deadpanned, implying that his brother was anything but humorous.

Leaning against the doorframe, Sam crossed his arms, waited for his brother's capitulation.

Knowing that his brother's unreasonable demands were prompted by his worry for him, Dean changed tactics, calmly reassured, "Sam, I'm really Ok. I promise."

Internally Sam scoffed, '_Yeah, Dean, because breaking open an already deep wound and thrashing in the throes of a fever a few hours ago is how __**You**__ define being OK_.' But he knew that, downplaying his own pain was as much a part of Dean as his brother's determination to help anyone who needed it. That, however, didn't mean Sam wasn't going to try his best to break that particular habit. "You don't have to always be OK, you know," he huskily said, holding his brother's eyes. "You just have to stick around. Be around for me to lecture like you're four…."

Humbled by his brother's acceptance of his weakness and throat tightening at the entreaty in his brother's eyes, Dean solemnly consented, "I think I can do that. Long as you don't go jumping into any more pits…."

Smiling happily, Sam raised his hands in surrender. "No pit jumping, I got it." And he meant it. He wasn't going anywhere without his brother. Because the soulless version of him had gotten one thing right: The best this life had to offer? It was exactly where he was right then and there, at his brother's side.

Returning Sam's smile, Dean contently announced, "Then we're good." And for the first time in a long time, it was actually the truth.

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The End.

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Well, that's it. I'm hoping you enjoyed this epilogue. You guys all made this such a fun story to post with your many wonderful, insightful, funny reviews! So thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, put this story as a favorite and kept tuning back in to read the next chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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